Operation: FRAGMENT
by Numbah702
Summary: Three years after decommissioning, the former members of Sector V unknowingly share a secret that could save the world.
1. Prologue

AN: I haven't written a fanfic in awhile and I've never written a Kids Next Door fanfic, so you'll have to bare with me on any horrible writing or out-of-character-ness.

A few notes on this story, it is slightly AU-ish. There is no Galactic Kids Next Door. Every operative gets decomissioned after their thirteenth birthday unless they escape like Cree and go evil. There are probably other things I'm forgetting to mention but you'll probably notice them.

This story is going to be fairly complicated and it might have quite a serious side, even going dark in some places. I still hope that I'll be able to capture the essence of the show, however, so we'll see. Um...the rating may go up so be forewarned. So...Read on witcha' bad self.

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**Operation: F.R.A.G.M.E.N.T.**

**Fuzzy**

**Reminders**

**After**

**Ganked**

**Memories**

**Exploit**

**Nasty**

**Times**

Prologue: The Last

Numbah 3 sat forlornly on a window bench in the tree house headquarters. She was staring into the night sky, a dark ocean glistening with silver fish. The moon hung dauntingly high, bright and full, mockingly. In her lap she hugged a Red Rainbow Monkey, despite the fact for the past month she'd been losing interest in such things, a symptom of adolescence.

The usually cheerful girl had decided to forego the traditional dual birthday-farewell party that the Kids Next Door threw for its best operatives upon reaching that golden age, opting to spend her last moments with her memories alone. Besides, mournfully she thought, there really was no one left she truly wanted to wish farewell. She'd already said her good-bye's to them a long time ago. Soon she would be taken to the Moonbase for decommissioning, a process through which everything she knew of her years with the Kids Next Door would be erased.

Outside the door, Numbar 3 could hear the shuffling of feet and whispers from kids outside her room. Sometimes she would pick up the things they were saying like, "the birthday girl is in there…" and "…this is just so sad" and even, "…I'll miss her". They were the fellows of her Sector, those who'd replaced her comrades lost to time. They made a show of their behavior as merely a display of concern for her well-being but their ulterior motive was apparent. They were keeping guard to ensure she didn't bolt from decommissioning.

Numbah 3 let a bemused smirk grace her shallow features. She gave a tight squeeze of the stuffed creature in her arms and let her mind wander.

Time was a steady, tireless, predictable beast. No matter how one fought it, or ran from it, time ticked on. Until the day, one turned around, and time had caught up. Childhood with all its adventure and wonderment was gone and suddenly one was thirteen.

It had happened to all of them, each member of the illustrious Sector V. One by one they fell to time.

Numbah 5 was the first. It had been several months ago, a lifetime to any kid, but for Numbah 3 it felt like yesterday. Kids Next Door held the traditional stadium-style gathering, even members of the KND that never came out of their tree houses showed up to give their farewells. Everyone and anyone who could make it were there, thus was the popularity of Numbah 5. Her entire soon-to-be former Sector surrounded her in the center of it all at a table complete with birthday cake. For most of the event she was silent, only a soft smile playing on her lips, as speeches were given regarding her illustrious career as a KND operative as well as her short, yet, productive stint as Soopreme Leader.

Numbah 3 remembered the look on Numbah 5's face when the decommissioning officer, that red-headed fury Numbah 86 who would face the same fate a month later, came to lead her away. She'd held her jaw stiff, kept her features passive, but her eyes had shimmered with a fear and uncertainty that only her long-time comrades could detect. She gave a few words of parting to all the operatives, then to each member of her Sector she whispered more intimate good-byes. On that window bench, Numbah 3 smiled, thinking of the last words Numbah 5 had ever spoken to her.

"_You keep these boys in line for Numbah 5, kooks."_

Then Numbah 5 left behind an awe-struck crowd, and only Abigail Lincoln returned.

Numbah 2, only a few months after 5, was next. Numbah 3 allowed a soft sad giggle to slip from her throat as she chewed her sleeve while recalling his thirteenth birthday. He had wanted it to be spectacular, a true party. He had all but laughed at the idea of a somber tribute to his heroic deeds over the course of his KND career. The cake had to be huge, he had declared, enough that everyone could have seconds, thirds, even fourths. Music was a must, dancing, and rootbeer all around. Every KND flyboy came and together they took Numbah 2 on a last flight, a flock of 2x4 technology vehicles soaring through the clouds in unified formation. He laughed and joked with everyone at the party but it was obvious to his Sector that the mirth was a front. Inside he was quaking; afraid and depressed. They all understood. In mere moments every happy memory, every triumph, every epic adventure, and everyone he cared about, would be gone and he wanted to soak up as much of it and them that he could.

When the new decommissioning officer came to lead Numbah 2 away, a bit of that sorrow cracked his features. He kept up the guise in front of the guests, but for his Sector's eyes only; he allowed tears to stream down his goggle-donned face. He attempted a jovial good-bye that ended in a giant group hug and then the plump pilot waddled away and Hoagie P. Gilligan Jr. remained.

When Numbah 1 was decommissioned, not even a month later, Sector V had to be dismantled, as it had meant their team leader was gone now and only two members remained. Numbah 1 had gone out much like Numbah 5, stoic and respectful. However, where the young girl had been plagued by fear, not a trace of anxious emotion had marred his features. It hadn't been bravery but so much more. There was an acceptance in him in a way that, as Numbah 3 soon faced her own decommissioning, she finally understood. He'd fought the good fight, and his loyalty to the KND would forever be unyielding, but he was simply…ready. He gave a rousing speech, one that moved the crowd to tears. Even after he was led away, the Nigel Uno that was left behind was no less than Numbah 1 had been.

Numbah 3 squeezed her eyes shut, hugging tightly to her the stuffed creature she'd adored in childhood; a shaky sigh escaped her lips, and she sunk back against the wall. Her next recollection was the hardest.

Three months ago on Numbah 4's thirteenth birthday, the toughest former member of Sector V, and perhaps all of KND, had gone missing. An alarm was raised as frantic operatives scoured the globe. The terrible thought had filled all their minds, had Numbah 4 gone rogue? It was the worst they could all imagine happening. He'd never been the brightest member of his group but he was still one of the best operatives to ever have served in the KND, and he'd been privy to highly secure items. Having to face him as a foe on the battlefield was one thing, but the information leak would be disastrous to their organization.

Numbah 3 recalled standing on the platform leading to the decommissioning chamber, feeling lost and hopeless, as other operatives ran helter-skelter about. She hadn't been allowed to help as she'd been closest to Numbah 4 and her thirteenth birthday wasn't far off. She remembered the way it felt when word reached her; they'd located her comrade, they were bringing him in. Her heart was a mix of relief and despair. She could still see him so clearly in her mind, waltzing into the Moonbase with an armed escort, a swagger in his step. Arrogance and cockiness rolling off of him in waves.

"Numbah 4," she had exclaimed, "I was so worried! Everyone was saying you'd gone to the teenagers…" She had trailed off, her voice low and sad.

"You know I'd never join no cruddy teenagers," had been his gruff reply, thickly accented, and she had smiled, because it was true, she had never doubted him for a moment. He grinned at her boyishly and explained conspiratorially, "I figured if I was going to forget everyone soon I'd have to make darn sure they _wouldn't_ be forgetting _me_ anytime soon."

And no one would be forgetting Numbah 4. That day, he had set a record that would probably never be trumped for most adult villains defeated in one day by one operative. When the KND decommissioning patrol had finally caught up to him he had just finished rescuing a gaggle of girl scouts from the orthodontically enamored Knight Brace.

On the platform, Numbah 4 had dropped his voice, lowering his chin so that his hair shadowed his expression and digging his hands deep into the pockets of his sweatshirt, "Uh…Numbah 3…seeing as how I won't be remembering you in a few minutes…there was something I wanted to tell you…before I…well…forget…"

"Yes, Numbah 4?"

Looking up through loose strands of blond hair, Numbah 4 had seemed to falter as he took in Numbah 3's appearance, standing with shimmering eyes and hands clasped together. Soon she would be alone. She would be the last. And he wouldn't be able to remember her.

"I…uh…well…um…I…" Numbah 4 looked away then, grimacing, and kicking at the ground, finally muttered, "I hid the last of my Halloween candy under the wrestling mat in my room and since it won't be my…uh…room anymore, I want you to have it."

"Oh," Numbah 3 had whispered response, letting her eyes drop, "Thanks."

"…Right," Numbah 4 had rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, "Uh…er…you won't forget me…will ya', Numbah 3?"

"No, silly," Numbah 3 had giggled, "I'm not the one being decommissioned!" She couldn't be sure but back then Numbah 4 had looked somewhat disappointed by that answer.

The decommissioning officer had stepped up to them then, saying, "It's time."

"Well, wait," Numbah 4 had stammered, "I'm not done saying good-bye yet…" As officers took up each of his arms, grumbling grievously 'come on, _teenager'_, leading him away, he had called over his shoulder, "Numbah 3, listen, take care of yourself, okay? I won't be here to watch your back anymore so just…be careful and don't act all ditzy and girly all the time. Be alert. And don't let anyone talk down to you…or…or…treat you like you're a dummy. You're not a dummy, Numbah 3…even for a cruddy girl…and…"

Then, as she did now sitting alone on a window bench, Numbah 3 had sniffled. She realized, part of her had wished that he _had_ gone rogue, a voice screaming in her mind, 'run, Numbah 4, run'. She had never cried at the decommissioning of her fellow operatives. There was something in Numbah 5's taciturn retreat, Numbah 2's rambunctious celebration, and Numbah 1's unfaltering courage, that had granted her the strength to wear an encouraging smile throughout each of their good-byes. But when she watched Numbah 4 be half-dragged away into the decommissioning chamber, she had let her cheerful façade drop as tears trickled off her trembling chin.

"…and remember, Numbah 3, you're strong! Don't let anyone tell you different! And don't think you're alone, neither, 'cause we'll still be friends…uh…even if I can't remember you," he had forced the guards to halt, as they tugged viciously at his arms, turning so that his glinting green eyes met her own shimmering ones, "Please, don't forget me, Numbah 3…Kuki, don't forget…Kuki, I…" The chamber door had slammed shut then cutting off Numbah 4's last words. She left without waiting; not wanting to face what would be left when Numbah 4 was gone.

Numbah 3 heard rather than saw the rocket that would take her to the Moonbase land outside of the tree house. As her newly arrived escort exchanged pleasantries with her Sector members, she raised the Rainbow Monkey up to face her and smiled wryly at it.

"It's time, now," she told the expressionless multi-colored doll, "You have to stay here with the Kids Next Door and I have to go…go…be a teenager. You be brave, okay?" She set the doll down on the bench and raised herself up, stretching languidly as the escort entered. They all carried mustard guns and Numbah 3 felt the urge to tell them they wouldn't need those. Like all of Sector V before her, she would not run. She was ready for what was to come.

The ride to the Moonbase was unbearable. The still quiet inside of the rocket Numbah 3 could have handled, but the grim faces of her escort were heart wrenching.

Pleasantly, she piped, "How was the cake?" In regards to the traditional birthday pastry that KND Global Command made in honor of a leaving operative. Numbah 3 had declined eating any. She felt those operatives that were still on the battlefield better deserved it. Her fight was over.

"Oh…um…really good. I had three slices," the pilot answered, his friend nodded enthusiastically.

"I'm glad," Numbah 3 murmured, turning her attention out the window as those silver bodied fish darted past in the deep black.

On the Moonbase, operatives stopped and stared as Numbah 3 marched past, some saluted while others only gaped or shook their heads sorrowfully. When they reached the door to the decommissioning chamber, operatives who had all crowded around suddenly broke into applause. Numbah 3 took a deep breath, spun to face the kids, waved and smiled brightly, declaring cheerfully, "Bye everybody! I'll miss you."

In the decommissioning chamber, Numbah 3 was strapped into the large hulk of machinery in the center of the room.

"It's going to be alright, Numbah 3," one of the guards told her, though there was a small hitch in his voice. She smiled up at him with assurance in her eyes.

"I know," she said. Soon, everything would be alright. More than alright. This is what she wanted. She admitted to herself that she had looked forward to this day since Numbah 4's decommissioning. It wasn't that she accepted it; it was that she welcomed it.

Throughout their childhood, the members of Sector V, whether on a mission or not, had been inseparable. They had been more than a team; they had been the best of friends. Even more than that, they had been a surrogate family.

After their decommissioning, however, everything changed. The memory washing put a distance between them, a gap that could never be bridged. The worst part however was that they were there; she still saw them at school, passing from class to class. There were times when she could literally reach out and touch one of them, but they'd never seemed so far away. They couldn't remember their adventures together, but she could.

Worse still, without the KND, the former teammates never seemed to see anything within one another that they had in common. They never spoke to one another, never rebuilt a friendship. The most devastating of it all, however, they all seemed so…happy. Oblivious, ignorant, and blissfully happy.

Numbah 3 wanted that happiness. She was ready to forget, as they had. She wanted these memories wrenched from her mind. It was too hard remembering what they couldn't. She wanted purged from her that want, that desire, to be a part of their lives when all she could be now was just a simple observer. She would have cut out these memories herself the day Numbah 4 was decommissioned had it been in her power. She was ready, oh yes, she was ready. Ready to no longer know who or what she was missing.

"It was a pleasure serving with you," the decommissioning officer told Numbah 3 from where he stood at the control panel. He dragged a lever down and a plunger dropped to capture Numbah 3's face, engulfing her in black and choking back any scream of surprise.

All at once, memories flooded before her eyes, like candles in the wind, they flickered and died.

-1-2-3-4-5-

Kuki Sanban startled, as though shaken from a trance, her eyes fixed on the moon. For a fleeting moment, she wasn't certain where she was though a quick glance around revealed that she was laying on the lawn in the backyard of her family home. How she had gotten there and why was a mystery though. She couldn't quite shake the sensation that she had just been somewhere else. For the life of her she couldn't figure where that somewhere else would have been.

Behind where Kuki lay, the sound of a door sliding open cut through the night and a high-pitched voice squeaked out her name. Frowning, Kuki sat up, brushing the loose black strands of hair from her face and straightening her shirt.

"What is it, Mushi?" she questioned her younger sister standing in the doorway.

"Dad wanted to start the cake," Mushi answered, "Are you coming?"

"Sure," Kuki sighed, pulling herself to her feet, brushing debris from her clothes, and starting for the door. She didn't really feel hungry but she didn't want to worry her family, she never passed up cake. And, after all, it was her thirteenth birthday. Mushi seemed to catch her sister's solemn expression, her brow furrowing in concern.

"Are you okay?"

"Hm…?" Kuki murmured, looking puzzled to the younger girl, "Um…yeah. I just feel like…I'm forgetting something…something really important."

Mushi eyed her sister with worry, chewing at her bottom lip before shrugging, stating simply, "It must not have been _that_ important." Without another word, she disappeared back into the house.

"But it was…I think…" Kuki whispered. She paused, momentarily, looking up to the moon once more. It hung so high, taunting her. Strange, she usually liked looking at the moon, so beautiful and alight with a mysterious glow, but that night, it seemed almost dreadful. She scrunched her nose, placing a hand on the doorframe as she began into her house. She wished she could remember…whatever it was that she felt she was forgetting.

_Don't forget me._ Kuki's heart thudded heavily in her chest.

"Wally," she mouthed. It was like a pulse beating in her mind, splotches of white spilled over her eyes, and she gripped tight to the doorframe to steady herself.

_Don't forget me._

Kuki rushed into the house, running her hand over the wall and any furniture she past to hold herself upright. She stumbled into the bathroom, falling back against the door to shut it behind her. She fumbled with the lock and then slid down to the tiled floor burying her face in her knees. Vertigo washed over her, head spinning and butterflies beating in her belly.

_Wally_. It kept time to her heart.

_Wally_. Badump. _Wally_. Badump. _Wally_. Badump.

_Don't forget me_, he'd said.

"Who was he?" she demanded of the dark empty room.

A flash of soft green, bright orange, and suddenly she found herself clutching the toilet seat, her dinner, partially digested, spewing from her gaping mouth, chest and throat heaving violently. When she finished a few seconds later, she stared disdainfully down at the regurgitated meal, her body quivering, and skin drenched in a layer of cold sweat.

Numbers swirled through Kuki's head as she started to heave again. One, two, three, four, five. One, two, three, four, five. One, two, three, four, five. Every time she thought she could compose herself, the numbers and nausea would come again.

"What…is…going…on…?" she sobbed, gasping for breath.

_Numbah 1_. It rang in her head like a chime. Black sunglasses conjured in her mind and a shiny baldhead.

"Not a number," she whispered.

Not a number but a Numbah. A person. One was a person, not a number. They were all people. Numbahs. Numbah 1, Numbah 2, Numbah 3, Numbah 4, Numbah 5.

"Who were they?"

_Numbah 2_. Zoom and a glimpse of powder blue. _Numbah 3_….

"Me," she whispered, not entirely sure what that meant, "I'm…I was…3…"

_Numbah 4._ Tiny marsupials wearing boxing gloves. _Numbah 5_. A long dark braid and red cap.

Wally. _Don't forget me._

"I don't know who you are…" she whimpered pleadingly, squeezing her eyes shut, trying to get the room to stop twirling as tears flowed freely down her cheeks, "What is happening to me?"

It felt as though a white-hot poker were searing the front of Kuki's skull. She leaned back, flushing the bile down the toilet, as images of kids, a large tree house, the moon, a rocket, and numbers flashed in front of her eyes. She couldn't make sense of any of it though. They were like puzzle with missing pieces and ones that wouldn't fit.

"Decommissioning didn't work," the words fell off her tongue though she hadn't a clue what she was saying. She made a face and whispered to the ceiling, "But…what does that even mean?"

A voice in her mind whispered, It means you can't be happy.

-END TRANSMISSION-

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I don't know what order the kids' birthdays went in and as far as I could find no one else does either. While researching I found that Wikipedia lists Wally as being the youngest but don't listen to that because it's a lie. The episodes referenced for age deduction don't reveal anything. I know that most viewers speculate that Wally and Kuki are the youngest of the group but as they're all the same age year-wise it doesn't really matter all that much. I placed Kuki as the last operative to be decomissioned. So there.

uh...I don't think I have anything else to say so...I hope you liked this. I would greatly appreciate a review. I think its bullocks that writers on this site have to beg for feedback so I'm not going to. I will, however, surreptitiously mention that one of the biggest reasons I stopped writing fanfics was because of lack of reader response despite having a large following for my stories. So...no reviews, no updates. Get it, got it, good? Well, I say that but I probably don't mean it. We'll see.

Later gator.


	2. Chapter 1

AN: Yay! I love getting reviews like the first day I upload. That's so awesome. Anyhow, since you all seemed so encouraging, here's the next chapter. One note I forgot to make, Hoagie's dad is never shown in the series and it's questioned as to whether he's alive or not as, in C.A.K.E.D.-F.O.U.R. he's referred to in past tense and in C.L.U.E.S. isn't present at an important dinner with Mrs. Gilligan's boss, Mrs. Sanban. Because of this, I'm going to be making the assumption that he's dead, so in this fanfic, Hoagie's father is deceased. That's it. Now go read.

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Chapter 1:

In the tranquil of night, loving families, tucked into their cozy warm beds, dozed peacefully as a silent figure slunk through shadows outside their homes. Dark eyes hidden beneath the red visor of a baseball cap fixed on an unmarked house across the street with moving van parked outside while a smile played across the shadow walker's hidden face.

The figure lifted a two-way radio to covered mouth and said, "The ball is now in play."

"Excellent, right on schedule," was the rasped response through radio static, "You know what to do and, remember, stay vigilant. From here on out, this is anyone's game."

"I know and I intend to win it."

-5-4-3-2-1-

The blaring of music, some eighties rock band, awoke Nigel Uno at the ungodly hour of six o'clock in the morning. He plopped a heavy hand onto the snooze button of his alarm, effectively silencing a wah-wah laden guitar solo, and dug himself deeper under the warmth of his blankets. Halfway back to slumber land, however, a series of loud banging erupted at his door.

"Nigel, old bean," his father's cheery baritone called out, thick with a proper English accent, "Time to rise and shine. Don't want to be late for your first day."

Bleary eyed, Nigel groaned response. He tossed the covers off his slender form and, wearily, pulled himself up into a sitting position. He rubbed at his face and peeled his eyes open to stare blankly out at his neatly organized room. He blinked several times, yawned while stretching his hands upward, then hopped up on his feet.

"I'm going, dad," he finally told his father, with the same English inflection.  
Seemingly satisfied with that answer, Mr. Uno's footsteps could be heard shuffling away from his son's door and down the stairs.

Nigel sighed then went to dress, tugging on a red striped t-shirt and a pair of khakis. He proceeded to his bathroom, splashing water on his groggy face, which he promptly dried. He then straightened to stare at his apathetic reflection. He was a tall and slender boy, with dark intense eyes, a long nose, high cheekbones, and a small mouth. He ran a hand over his naturally bald head; a result of a childhood accident his parents had explained, but that was all they would say.

Sixteen years old was a precarious time to be relocated. It had been hard enough when, at thirteen, he'd been dragged back to England, a place he'd originally left at four and only knew anything of from the rare visits his family made.

The move had been due to Nigel's grandmother falling ill and the family needing to manage her estate until she either recovered or past on. Unfortunately, the old woman suffered the later fate. The Uno family hadn't planned on staying long, wanting to return stateside as soon as possible but the matriarch's passing required affairs to be settled and before the family knew it, three years had passed.

It seemed that just when Nigel had gotten used to the new location, settled into a school, and become part of a group of friends; his father announced the family would be returning to the United States. He had been devastated.

Even though they moved back to the city they had originally left, Nigel didn't know anyone and his memories of the place were confused and muddled, awash with fanciful images and faces of people whose names he couldn't recall, anytime he'd try only numbers would fill his mind. All of which, he eventually chalked up to childish reverie.

To make matters worse, upon returning to the small American town, Nigel had found himself plagued with nightmares that kept him awake, tossing and turning. When morning came he couldn't recall what they had been about, just the feeling they left him with, of incomparable fear and of something left undone, people who'd counted on him let down.

Nigel finished readying himself for school. He was comforted by the thought that the year was just starting for all the students who'd be attending Willem High School, but it was barely reassuring considering he was entering his junior year and by then most of his peers would have already established themselves in groups. There wasn't much he could do about it though as he sighed once more and slung a book bag over his shoulder. He quipped a 'later' to his parents and grabbed a banana on his way out the door.

Willem High School was several blocks away from the Uno household, well within walking distance, and not having gained his state license yet, Nigel opted to make the trek. It wasn't much of a bother to him, anyhow. He enjoyed the early morning exercise and the solitude that it offered. He waved to his neighbor as she dug in her garden, an oversized woman with an affinity for cats. She was a tad strange but she'd been kind to his parents when the family moved in.

Groups of teenagers were already gathered around the school, laughing and joking with one another. Nigel caught snippets of conversations as he made his way towards the school entrance, discussions of summer vacation and the year to come. Many of the students paused to stare at him as he passed by. Unperturbed by the attention, Nigel jutted his chin out and hooked his thumbs beneath his book bag straps. He opened the door to the school and collided with a soft figure that gave out a gasp of surprise, stumbling backwards.

A boy of quick reflexes and graceful agility Nigel swiftly caught hold of the stranger's wrists to steady her, as a sincere "I am so sorry" spilled from his lips.

Ebony tendrils and dark green were the first sights his mind registered and then he focused on the surprised tiny Asian teen looking up at him through willowy wisps of hair. His heart skipped and he felt as though an electrical current shot up his spine. In his mind he saw a room, with control panels and video screens, a circular couch coiling around a podium in the center. He just didn't know where that room was or recall ever having been there.

"You can let go of me now," the Asian gently spoke up, and her friends, who stood stunned behind her, broke into a flurry of giggles. Flustered, Nigel dropped her arms.

"I really am sorry. Very, very sorry," he attempted again, running a hand over the back of his hairless scalp, "I didn't mean to run into you. Are you alright, Miss?"

"Oh shush! I'm fine," the girl told him sweetly, straightening the wrinkles from her green form-fitted tee and pushing loose strands of hair from her eyes. She spoke with a slight accent that accentuated her pretty image with a more refined cuteness, "Don't worry about it. It's my fault, I wasn't really watching where I was going."

"Ah," Nigel breathed a sigh of relief, "I'm glad. That you're fine, I mean…not that you weren't watching."

"You're new?" one of the Asian girl's friends questioned. She was a redhead with a thick brogue Nigel easily identified as Irish.

"Oh…ah…yes," the bald boy stammered, clearing his throat and pulling his shoulders back, "I'm Nigel…Nigel Uno. I, actually, just recently moved_ back_ here."

"From England," the third and final friend ventured, then shyly, "I assume from you're accent." She was a slender brunette with lovely features and ebony eyes.

"Yes, actually," Nigel responded distantly, his attention back on the Asian. She was silent; her eyes focused elsewhere and face pale, looking the very picture of discomfort. He had to admit, he shared her unsettle, though he couldn't understand why. She seemed familiar. He wondered had he known her before he moved back to England. He tried to remember but all he could think of were numbers and that weird room. Not to mention, the blazing headache it caused him.

"Nigel Uno, huh?" the redhead was musing, grabbing said British boy's attention, "Did you, by any chance, attend Gallagher Elementary while you were living here before?"

"Uh…yes, I believe so," Nigel answered, eyeing her warily. Suddenly a light went off in his head as he subconsciously took a step back from the girls, "You're not…are you…_Fanny Fulbrite_?"

The redhead grinned almost sneeringly, "I am. You remember me, then?"

Nigel took in the girl's appearance, recalling her as a child with frizzy red curls, wearing androgynous outfits, and yelling loudly – giving commands or just all around complaining. Standing before him as a sixteen-year-old girl she had changed. Her tamed curls pulled back into a clasp, light make-up brushed her facial features, and she was wearing a pleated hunter green skirt with a loose fitted blouse over her slim form. Her face was still full of freckles though and the glint in her emerald eyes suggested that she was probably still loud and obnoxious too. He took another step back wondering if she still hated boys.

"Oh yeah. You remember me," Fanny laughed. She let a sly smile crease her features and told him, "Calm down, I'm not the same little brat I used to be. I'm a _lady_ now."

Nigel didn't look too certain, but cautiously said, "Well…in that case, it's good to see you again."

The Asian peered curiously at her friend then explained seemingly out of nowhere, "Oh that must be it!" She sounded relieved. The other three teens turned questioningly to her. She shrugged, smiling, and simply stating, "You looked familiar."

Nigel perked a brow still waiting a more detailed explanation. The brunette giggled and Fanny rolled her eyes, though the Asian seemed oblivious to his confusion. The redhead placed hands on her dark-haired friend's shoulders and leaned forward with an apologetic smile.

"I think what Kuki is trying to tell you is that she went to Gallagher Elementary, as well," Fanny explained and after a few seconds to process, Nigel formed a silent 'oh'.

"I must say I am sorry, I don't remember you at all, ah, Cookie," Nigel said, again rubbing at the back of his head.

"I'm not a dessert, silly. My name is _Ku_ki," the tiny girl corrected, then quietly to herself, "…and I didn't think that you would."

"Oh, my apologies," Nigel replied hastily. He didn't recognize the name but he was comforted in knowing they went to the same school as it explained why her face was so familiar, "It's a pleasure to re-meet you, _Kuki_."

The brunette shifted awkwardly and Nigel turned to her in surprise. Shamefully he realized, he'd forgotten she was there.

"And did you go to Gallagher as well, miss…um…"

"Patty," the girl provided, her voice just a decibel above whisper. She lowered her eyes and twirled a piece of golden brown hair about a finger, "No, I didn't go to Gallagher. So you wouldn't know me…"

"That's good," Nigel mumbled as he glanced at Kuki, still feeling sorrowful that he couldn't remember her. He cleared his throat and smiled pleasantly down at the girls, "Well, it was nice running into all of you…literally…but I should really get going. I have to find my homeroom."

"Oh, maybe we could help," Kuki piped and Patty nodded slightly beside her. Fanny folded her arms over her chest impatiently but questioned what Nigel's room number was. When he provided it, they pointed him down a hallway and said their good-byes, splitting separate ways.

Nigel rubbed at his temples as he walked the rest of the way to class, trying to force the afterimage of disjointed fantasies from his mind. He wondered if any of it had to do with the accident that kept his hair from growing but shook the thought quickly away. Childish reverie, he reminded himself, that's all it was.

Upon entering, Nigel found that his homeroom was not empty. To the back of the class, a small group of students had gathered. They had formed a circle around two desks pushed together, and were all whooping and hollering excitedly. Two figures seemed to be in the midst of an arm wrestling match. Nigel correctly identified them all bullies and miscreants. He looked around for a teacher but failed to find one, turning his attention back to the rambunctious teenagers just as one noticed him.

"Hey, who are you?" a large boy called out. The group as one turned their attention to the new comer. There were five in all. The large boy who'd noticed Nigel was standing in the background, tallest of the group and bulkiest as well. He was flanked on either side by two other boys. One was about Nigel's height, with reddish hair. The other was very short and wearing a leather cowboy hat, gum smacking in his mouth. At the desks sat a bucktoothed boy who probably stood close to the larger boy's height. His hand was still clasping that of his opponent's, a pretty blonde girl wearing a flowery brown dress and a scowl. She seemed to be winning.

Nigel forced impassiveness into his features and voice, "Excuse my intrusion. I didn't mean to interrupt anything. I'll just…uh…sit down up here and let you continue."

The short boy perked a brow at that answer before stepping forward to stand out as the seeming leader of his group. He spoke with a southern drawl, "You're not from around here, are ya?"

"Right," Nigel replied, placing his pack on a desk in the front row, "I'm new, actually. Just moved here."

The Napoleonic boy smiled then and his friends quickly followed suit.

-1-2-3-4-5-

With a satisfying click, Hoagie P. Gilligan Jr. locked a final connector into place. He stepped back, hands on hips and grinned satisfactorily at his work. Amongst the piles of junk scattered about the ground, the model airplanes and rockets dangling from the ceiling and displayed on shelves, and the blueprints scattered about his drafting desk, stood his newest masterpiece. To say he was proud was an understatement. He leaned forward to wipe a smudge off the hull when there came a pounding at his door. Startled, he knocked his creation off balance and scrambled to catch it before it hit the floor.

Placing it back upright, Hoagie called over his shoulder in annoyance, "What?"

"Hoagie, we have to get going! We'll be late for school," a voice whined, muffled by the door. Hoagie began to roll his eyes only for his face to double take as he realized what had just been said. School. It was the first day of school.

"Oh no! I forgot school," Hoagie screeched, yelling to his younger brother outside, "Hold on, Tommy, I'll be right there!"

In a mad dash, Hoagie tugged the t-shirt he'd been working all night in off and tossed it to a full hamper, grabbing the cleanest smelling button down he could find. He snatched his brown boots from the ground and all at once began dressing himself, arm through a sleeve, foot in a shoe, as he hobbled to open the door for Tommy. His kid-brother watched him with amusement before noticing the large hulking creation in the middle of the room. Hoagie could just imagine those baby-blues widening behind the yellow-tinted goggles his brother wore, passed down from Hoagie who'd exchanged them for yellow-tinted glasses.

"Whoa! What's that?" Tommy exclaimed and a triumphant grin slipped into place, as Hoagie attempted to finish dressing while brushing his teeth.

"Newest invention," Hoagie explained, as toothpaste spittle flew about. He rinsed out his mouth, and leaned against his bathroom doorpost, arms crossed and smiling ear-to-ear, "It's a ten way rocket launcher."

"Nice," Tommy gleamed.

Hoagie smiled fondly at the fourteen year old, walking over to plop a hand on the aviator capped head, another hand-me-down. Tommy looked the way Hoagie had as a child, a rotund butterball full of wonder. He had eagerly claimed his brother's clothes as soon as the older boy was too tall and, now, too slender to fit into them properly. Every garment in Tommy's closet now once belonged to Hoagie.

"You were up all night working again, weren't you?" Tommy questioned, knowingly. Hoagie nodded sheepishly and the younger boy shook his head, almost in disappointment though it was more out of sad concern.

Hoagie couldn't help it though and he couldn't explain it. The desire…no, the need to build. It was the only thing he could do to stop the swirling images in his mind of devices and gadgets so strange and improbable they couldn't possibly have ever existed. It was the only thing that gave him peace of mind from the memories that couldn't possibly have happened no matter how real they felt. Memories of robots, flying school buses, and trips to the moon.

"I was planning on testing it out at the park later tonight," Hoagie informed the younger boy, "You want to invite a few of your friends and come watch?"

Tommy's face lit with excitement, "Sure!"

"Don't tell mom about it, though. She'd kill me if she knew I was building rocket launchers in the house again," Hoagie mentioned as he grabbed his satchel from the ground and twirled his car keys around a finger, "Let's get going, Tommy."

"Alright," Tommy agreed, following his brother out the door with one last appreciative look over his shoulder, "We still have to pick up Sonya and Lee."

Hoagie's greatest pride was his 1950 Chevy pick-up. He'd restored it two summer's ago in anticipation of getting his driver's license; spending extra hours at the hobby shop he worked at, as well as doing odd jobs around the neighborhood, so he could afford the parts to trick out his ride. After a full engine re-haul, transmission rebuild, interior refurbish, endless hours of detail work, new stereo system, and sky-blue paint job, the truck was picture perfect looking better than new. He'd had to fight the desire, though; to turn the vehicle into some airplane-submarine-hybrid because there was no way something like that was possible, right?

Walking by, Hoagie patted his baby's hood, climbing into the driver seat as his brother hopped beside him on the passenger side. The truck roared to life and Hoagie smiled lovingly at the dashboard.

"That's my girl," he purred.

Tommy rolled his eyes, moaning, "_School_, Hoagie. _Late_, Hoagie."

"Oh yeah," Hoagie snapped out of his trance, "Right. School. Going!"

Sonya was the first to be picked up. A tiny slip of a girl dressed in a pink baby tee and denim skirt. Her blonde tresses were dragged back into twin ponytails as side swept bangs and loose strands flitted about her face. She smiled sweetly to Hoagie and greeted Tommy with a light punch on the shoulder. Lee was next, silently sliding into the seat by Sonya. He was dressed casually in a blue tee and loose-fitting cargo pants, a brown beanie pulled over his head, his usual yo-yo in hand. He nodded greeting to the others in the vehicle.

When Hoagie had gotten his license, he had somehow been placed in charge of carpool duties, his mother having decided that along with driving privileges needed to come more responsibility. Earnestly, it was more of a pain when he was going to a different school than his pint-sized passengers because it meant leaving earlier. However, that year, the three now fourteen year olds were moving into high school. Hoagie looked forward to sleeping in.

Honestly, though, Hoagie didn't mind giving rides to the youngsters and he was definitely their favorite driver. Evidently, as Lee had an older sibling that could drive him but chose Hoagie instead, claiming he liked riding with his friends. It might have been because Hoagie was still alight with youthful wonder, an active imagination and innocent dreams, but he had never been like other teenagers in their way of looking down on anyone younger. He treated them as equals, speaking to them on their terms, and they loved him for it.

"What do you guys want to listen to?" he asked, as Lee buckled his seatbelt, "I put in new speakers last weekend. You guys are going to drool over the sound! Right, Tommy?"

"Oh yeah," Tommy agreed.

Picking a station they could all agree on, Hoagie started for school. The three teenagers talked animatedly, Tommy telling them about his brother's newest device, and the other two eagerly confirmed wanting to join the Gilligan brothers at the park for testing.

"You three ready for your first year of high school?" Hoagie broke into their conversation and they all paused to consider.

"I'm excited," Sonya answered candidly. Lee simply shrugged but Tommy nodded happily.

"I am because I get to be with my big brother," he announced smugly to his friends. Hoagie frowned slightly, pulling into the parking lot.

"Oh yeah," he murmured, "Cool." He had forgotten that part. The three youngsters looked up to him, thought of him as some sort of hero; the greatest, coolest, most awesome teenager in the whole world. It was too bad his high school peers didn't share their opinion. As they all clambered out of the vehicle, Hoagie frowned up at his own personal hell, Willem High School bustling with student life. In that building, he wasn't great, cool, or awesome. He was just Hoagie P. Gilligan Jr., king of the nerds.

"Hey, there's Harvey and Shaunie," Sonya suddenly called out and the two boys looked the direction she was pointing. Hoagie chuckled nervously as a group of boys from the football team passed by sending jeers his direction.

"Uh… you kids go ahead and catch up with your friends," Hoagie told them, "I'm going to go look for my own. I'll see you three after school, okay?"

The youngsters nodded, shouting good-byes over their shoulders as they raced to catch up with their friends from junior high. Hoagie sighed, shifting the weight of his satchel comfortably up on his shoulder and headed into the school for the Audio-Visual room, his single refuge in the entire building, knowing he'd find familiar faces there.

Inside the AV room, Hoagie wasn't disappointed. He nearly collided with a plump boy wearing a yellow plaid shirt, red bow tie, and suspenders who was busy wheeling a television across the room.

"Oh…sorry Herbie," Hoagie winced, tipping his brown baseball cap in greeting. Herbert just shook his head, continuing on his path. Across the room a blond boy with bright blue eyes shouted out excitedly, waving.

"Hoagie, over here!"

Shrugging and dropping his satchel on one of the tables covered with wires and knick-knacks, Hoagie joined the blond who was busy talking to a black-haired boy in a green suit.

"…I'm also going to need two more lights…" the suited boy was saying, he paused to acknowledge Hoagie, "Oh good, you're here. Gilligan, cameras one and five are on the fritz again, I need you to fix them before final bell. We're taping the first morning news cast tonight."

"Well, good morning to you too, Nick," Hoagie greeted sarcastically and then muttered, "I'll take a look at lunch."

"Excellent. That's everything, Arthur, I expect it by third period," Nick went back to the blond before turning and marching from the room.

"He knows it's not technically my job to fix the Media Club's cameras, right?" Hoagie questioned his friend who laughed response as an oddly egg shaped boy patted him on the shoulder in passing.

"Come on, Hoag, you know you love being the go-to-guy," Arthur jibed his friend who just rolled his eyes, "Anyhow, we just got a shipment in of switchboards, capacitors, and batteries that need to be organized. I figured I'd put you in charge of that seeing as how you invented our inventory system."

"Gee. Thanks," Hoagie replied, again sarcastically, he received another sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

"That's what you get for being brilliant," a voice suddenly piped and Hoagie turned to its owner, an unfamiliar stout black boy, hair twisted into dreadlocks, and, in contrast to his appearance, twinkling bright blue eyes. He was dressed in overalls with a red handkerchief tucked in his pocket.

"Uh…thanks…I think," Hoagie piped, and then tilting his head to one side and furrowing his brow, "Do I know you?"

"Oh…sorry, Hoagie," Arthur spoke up, stepping forward and donning an authoritative stance, "This is Whistler, a sophomore. He's new. Whistler, this is Hoagie. You'll be helping him organize the new shipment. He'll show you the ropes around AV Club."

"Nice to meet you," Whistler exclaimed, offering up a hand that Hoagie tentatively shook.

"New…huh?" he questioned, quirking a brow, "First day and you already want to join us AV nerds?"

Whistler laughed heartily at that, grinning in a way that showed all his teeth and winking at Hoagie, "Let's just say I know my place. So, when did you want to tackle that organizing project?"

"Hm…well, it looks like I already have plans during lunch and I can't stay after school - got to drive my brother home – how's about tomorrow after school?"

"Sounds good to me," Whistler answered, "There anything I should know about being in the AV Club?"

"Not really," Hoagie chuckled, nodding to his blond friend who'd gone to speak to the egg-shaped boy, "Arthur makes it sound like this is a high-tech operation we got going on but really we just come here and hang out. He's not even really the President or anything, he just likes to delegate responsibility so he doesn't have to do anything."

"I see. So he's lazy, huh?"

"Lazy? He'd have someone else talk for him if he could find someone that could read his mind," Hoagie joked but when Whistler didn't respond he cleared his throat and asked, "So, where'd you go to school before coming here?"

"Hannibal Hamlin High," Whistler answered, "It was alright. What do you have to do at lunch today?"

"Oh…fix cameras for the Media Club," Hoagie groaned, "They're always passing off those kinds of maintenance tasks to me, making me miss lunch. It's probably just a wire shortage again, nothing a little electrical tape can't fix. I swear they don't take care of their equipment, at all."

"I could do it for you, if you want?" Whistler offered, honest and eager. Hoagie, stunned by the act of philanthropy, shrugged, as he rubbed a hand over his neck. A strange feeling washed over him.

"Well, sure, if you want to. It'll probably be really boring."

"I don't mind, I like this kind of stuff," was the response.

"Oh…okay. Just see Nick in the media room then. Uh…thanks," Hoagie said before Herbie called to him for help moving a crate of speakers. He glanced the new boy explaining something to Arthur, watching as the blond laughed, and felt a strange pang. Arthur didn't usually need anything explained to him but if he did, Hoagie had always been the one to do so.

Hoagie frowned, trying to shake bad thoughts from his head. Whistler was just being nice but Hoagie didn't feel so sure.

-5-4-3-2-1-

Kuki gasped as cold water hit her face. She reached for a paper towel and dried off, staring blankly at her reflection in the mirror. She'd rushed for the bathroom after her encounter with Nigel Uno feeling queasy and lightheaded.

Bald head, red shirt, calculating eyes, devious smirk and a British accent. All Nigel was missing was black sunglasses and he would be a perfect fit for that boy, one of the four, who haunted her dreams and plagued her childhood memories. She couldn't recall ever playing with, hanging out, or talking with him but she felt she _knew_ him. More than that, she trusted him implicitly. She realized if he told her to jump off a bridge she would do it, no questions asked.

"Who are you, Nigel Uno?" she asked her reflection.

_Numbah 1_, her mind replied.

"But who is Numbah 1?" she demanded.

No answer came.

* * *

AN: Fun stuff. Okie, I should probably explain though it will become more apparent throughout the story, I titled this fanfic 'FRAGMENT' because they don't have their full memories, only fragments of them. And each of them remembers different things. Why that is and how that happened will be explained all in due time.

Okie, I also forgot to warn that this fanfic does contain OCs (original characters), two of which are introduced in this chapter. Being Patty (not to be confused with Fanny's brother Patty) and Whistler. There will be more to come but I also plan on incorporating as many characters from the show as I can. I love figuring out ways to work side characters into my fanfic so if any of you have a character from the show you would like to see cameoed in this story, let me know in a review (give name and episode they showed in) and I'll try to work them in.

Next chapter we'll be catching up with Wally and Abigail.


	3. Chapter 2

AN: Oh boy! It's here, it's here! Wally and Abby, Wally and Abby; aren't you all excited? I know I am. In an, I'm going to throw up, please don't hate this chapter, kind of way. I have to thank everyone for the character suggestions they gave me. Even if you suggested a character I already planned on using, I'm grateful, because it only reassured me that they were good picks. Please, keep the suggestions coming!

WARNING: I've taken a few liberties with Wally's family so some members may be slightly OOC from the series, but this does take place six years after it ended so I guess it could work...you don't want to listen to me blather, though. Go read, go read!

* * *

Chapter 2:

It wasn't the sound of Lars Ulrich beating an amazing drum solo from the tiny alarm next to his bed that awoke Wallabee Beatles that early morning; nor was it the sun beating through the window, nor even his mother screaming at him from down the stairs. When he bolted upright from slumber, tearing the covers off his sweat-drenched body, gasping for air, every muscle tense and hands clenched into tight fists, it was only because of the demons in his mind. Demons that, no matter how hard and how fiercely he fought them, he could never defeat.

Wide-eyed and ready to fight, only an empty albeit slightly disastrous room greeted Wally. His heart pounded in his chest and his mind reeled with his fine-tuned "kill or be killed" instinct. After a moment of anxious straining of ears and surveying of his unkempt room, Wally relaxed ever so slightly, satisfied that there was no danger…yet. Sighing, he ran a hand over his face as the CD in his alarm clock changed tracks to 'Enter the Sandman'. He debated going to school that day.

"Might as well," he finally muttered. It was the first day after all and he had just gotten back from a four-month internment at some boarding school. His parents tried that every now and then, shipping him off to a private institution that promised discipline and corporal punishment. He never lasted long at the schools though, this recent one marking an all-time record for longest enrollment.

Without an ounce of weariness or hesitation, Wally did a set of crunches on the bed then rolled to the floor, catching himself in plank, and proceeding into push-ups.

_What kind of demons could a sixteen-year-old boy possibly have?_ .A therapist had once asked Wally as he had sat in an oversized chair contemplating breaking something expensive looking in the office.

Standing up, and taking a few swipes at a heavy bag to the far wall of the room, Wally plucked up a few clothing garments, tossing them in the bathroom. He paused in the doorway, across which a bar was bolted, and did a series of chin-ups. Then he stripped down and hopped in the shower, wincing and choking back a gasp as the cold water bit into his skin. He made the shower quick, dousing himself with soap and shampoo, not bothering to turn the heat up on his faucet, just enjoying the chill. He exited, dried, and dressed.

Wally stared in the mirror at his damp reflection. His blond hair was in a bowl cut reminiscent of the one he'd worn in childhood. He'd gotten a Mohawk in the eighth grade, his mother nearly throttling him, and the sheered locks had finally grown back by the end of freshman year. Needless to say, he was done experimenting for a while. Beneath the shaggy blond tresses were hard green eyes, dark and hollow.

Wally was no longer short, which was a bit of a relief to him as he'd been tormented as a youth for his lack of height, but he wasn't exactly on the tall side either, standing just a few inches above average. No one made fun of him anymore, though, as his body was well-toned, not overly bulky, just lean muscle from years of hard martial training. He had a decent tan from summer's spent surfing off the coast of his home country, Australia. When he was there he practically lived in the ocean, at least, when he wasn't dirt biking or boxing. It was odd to think there was a time when he not only couldn't swim but also was too afraid to try.

Opening the medicine cabinet, Wally plucked various prescription bottles out, frowning at each one labeled with his name and dosage instructions. Post traumatic stress disorder, paranoid schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, epilepsy, even ADHD; if violent outbursts, insomnia, and shadows stalking him were symptoms then he'd been diagnosed with it. He popped the pills in his mouth with disdain; it was too soon to tell, but he was really hoping this was the cocktail that would finally balance out his emotions. He was tired of seeing doctors and he _hated_ talking about his 'feelings'.

It wasn't like they could understand, as much as he yelled and screamed at them the explanations. _Go to the darkest place in your mind_, he'd tell them, _the place where all your fears reside, and imagine being stuck there, unable to leave._ Most people his age would have suffered mental breakdowns long ago from the visions that tormented him every second of every day, but Wally wasn't a weakling and he wasn't a coward. He was a fighter, a warrior. He would go down swinging or not at all.

"Wallabee, turn that music down!" Mrs. Beatles voice screeched through the door. Wally rolled his eyes, waltzing back into his room and shutting off the alarm. He could hear his mother storming down the stairs again as he jabbed at his punching bag a few more times.

Somewhere amongst the wreckage of his room Wally found a pencil and shoved it in his pocket then exited, locking his door behind him. Couldn't have anyone snooping around in there. He headed downstairs; finding his little brother plopped on the couch in front of the television gulping down cereal from a bowl balanced in his lap. Wally scowled at the younger boy, his mother bustling in the kitchen. He could smell her perfume and knew just from that she was planning on going out. She didn't work, a housewife, so where she would be going that day was a mystery Wally wasn't interested in solving. He turned his attention to the eight-year-old on the couch.

Joey had blond hair like Wally just darker and a bit strawberry; with stormy gray eyes to contrast the older boy's green. He didn't bare the same golden tan, either, his complexion creamy and nose dotted with cute freckles. As Wally had been born in Australia and lived there until the age of seven, he bore a thick accent like his parents; growing thicker every summer he spent in the outback. But Joey had been born in the U.S. and, despite going on the same family vacations; he never really picked up the accent. He only let a slight twang enter words like, "mom", "dad", it grew strongest when he'd say, "Wally" or whenever he used the Aussie slang his brother would teach him, to their mother's chagrin.

"Why are you still here?" Wally demanded of the younger boy and Joey cocked his head slightly away from whatever silly cartoon he was watching.

"G'day, mate," Joey replied with that Aussie intonation he only used when making fun of his older brother. Wally's usual frown darkened.

"Aren't you supposed to be at school?" he growled at the small boy whose teasing smile slid away.

"I missed the bus," Joey explained, in that normal Mid-western American tone, spooning more sugarcoated Rainbow Monkey shaped cereal into his mouth. Knowing what that meant, Wally threw his hands up in exasperation.

"Great," he groaned, stalking into the kitchen. Tugging the refrigerator door open and chugging some juice from the cartoon, he queried of his mother, "Why is Joey not on the bus?"

"Oh," Mrs. Beatles exclaimed, glancing at her son. She was standing near the wall, the telephone pressed to her ear. Covering the mouthpiece, she told him in a low whisper, "I need you to take him."

"What?" Wally cried out, "But I'm already running late for my own classes. I don't have time! Why can't you take him?"

"Because I've got _plans_, Wallabee," she responded impatiently.

Wally folded his arms over his chest, glaring into his mother's face. She was dolled up with a layered skirt and low-cut blouse. Red lipstick stained her mouth and she had on the expensive golden teardrop earrings Mr. Beatles had gotten her for Valentine's Day four years ago. He bought them to atone for the fact he had to skip their planned romantic dinner.

Mrs. Beatles turned her attention into the phone suddenly, lighting up for whoever was on the other end.

"…oh yes, I'm still here," she said. She laughed, probably at some joke told by that unknown person, "Of course I think so…well yeah…oh, that sounds good to me…ah, hold on a moment."

Wally tapped his foot angrily, digging fingernails chewed to the bone, into his biceps. She seemed to suddenly notice that her son hadn't budged. So she placed a hand over the telephone again and, forcing a saccharine smile onto her face, cooed, "Come on, my little marsupial, do your mom this one favor."

"Favor, huh? And when exactly would you be planning on paying me back this one favor?" he questioned haughtily. His mother's expression turned sour.

"Wallabee, your father and I let you keep that death trap, even after the last hassle you caused, the least you could do is put it to good use. Now take your brother to school," she sneered threateningly.

Wally opened his mouth to respond but whatever argument he was ready to bite out faltered when Joey interrupted from the other room, angrily shouting at the television, "Ah…you _WANKER_!"

Mrs. Beatles pursed her mouth so tight it turned white, her eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. Wally blanched, eyes wide and mouth parting slightly. He lowered his face slowly, rubbing a hand over his neck.

"Uh…I'll just …" he murmured, edging out of the room as his mother slow-boiled in the kitchen. When he reached the door he bolted yelling, "Time for school, Joe." He snatched his brother from off the couch by the collar, dropping the cereal bowl on the end table, grabbing Joey's backpack in the foyer, and rushing out just as his mother regained her senses.

"Wallabee Beatles! You. Are. In. So much trouble," she howled at the top of her lungs. The door slammed shut behind the boys.

Wally straddled his Indian Chief motorcycle, parked on the side of the street, and tossed the spare helmet to a still stunned Joey, who startled then fumbled to catch it. Silently, the small boy slipped his backpack onto his shoulders then pulled the helmet over his head, clasping it under his chin and climbing up behind his brother.

It was a rare treat to ride with Wally on the bike, a purchase he'd made from a fellow student at that private school he was sent off to before summer. Something the Beatles parents decided he'd done to piss them off though, surprisingly, they let him keep it. At home, it gave Wally something productive to focus on, as he spent a great many hours fine-tuning the vehicle.

The brothers spent little time together. Wally was constantly in trouble and Joey had his own friends to keep him busy. And they really didn't get along when they were together; they struggled to find anything they could agree on, and were often at odds, tearing at each other with injurious words. Wally blamed the age difference but Joey suspected his older sibling just plain hated him.

Even that morning as Joey looked forward to the high-speed trip to school, he couldn't shake feeling like an unwanted burden his brother would have liked nothing more than to dump. He felt guilty as his brother, always the lit fuse, grumbled at the front of the bike about "how come you weren't on the bus in the first place?"

It didn't help their relationship that the brothers, personality wise, were almost polar opposites. Joey had a sensitive side that Wally seemed to lack. When their parents fought, when his brother had an 'episode' as the doctors called it, when emotions were high and tempers ran hot, Joey couldn't put up the tough front that Wally managed. Instead he would bury himself in books trying to shut out the world, or break down in his room so that only his stuffed animals and action figures could see.

"Are you ready?" Wally snarled, and Joey flinched inwardly, nodding before gripping the older boy about the waist just as the motorcycle was kicked to life. They flew down the road at a neck-breaking pace and, for just that moment, both boys seemed to find a sort of common ground.

If there was one thing that brought Wally transcendence, it was a good adrenaline rush. Be it surfing untamed waves, jumping off a high cliff, or racing on a motorized bike, whatever got his blood pumping and heart pounding seemed to pull him out of that dark place in his mind. It kept the demons at bay. Several moments later, he jerked to a stop next to the sidewalk out front of Gallagher Elementary, nearby kids pausing to stare as Joey stepped off the bike, unsnapping his helmet with trembling fingers.

With a lowered head to hide the tears forming in those stormy eyes, Joey handed the helmet over to Wally who was scowling up at the school he'd attended so many years ago.

"Gimme your bus roster," the older boy commanded, snapping the spare helmet to the back of his bike.

Joey dug through his backpack, producing a packet full of papers. Wally shuffled through the sheets, his younger brother fidgeting uncomfortably on the sidewalk. Tugging out a paper covered with typed instructions and a few handwritten numbers, Wally muttered curses under his breath.

"Alright, says here your bus is number 860, you gonna remember that or do you want me to write it on your hand?" Wally questioned tersely. The little boy sniffled, nodding and glancing over his shoulder at the kids still watching their exchange, "Go to your bus _right after_ school lets out, understand? And tomorrow you need to be at the bus stop at seven o'clock, earlier even. I'll wake you up, but you got to get ready yourself 'cause I'm going back to sleep after that. Don't wait for mom, neither. Got it?"

Wally spat out the word "mom" as though it tasted bitter in his mouth. Joey nodded again, lowering his head further, his shoulders curled up. He ran a sleeve-covered hand across his nose.

"And stop crying," Wally growled.

"I'm not crying," the little brother shot back as a wayward tear, obscured by shaggy hair, strolled down his cheek. Wally rolled his eyes, shifting his weight and looking away from the tiny shuddering form next to him.

"You know what room you're supposed to go to?" he asked. Joey mumbled something in response and the older boy repeated, "Do you know what room…"

"I said yes," Joey snapped, "Can I go now? _Please_?"

Wally shoved the papers back towards his brother who tucked them into his backpack again. Joey turned then and hastily walked up towards the school, keeping his face downcast to hide the steady stream of tears.

After the small boy disappeared into the crowd, the older brother kicked his motorcycle to life and burst into traffic at top speeds once more. Again, he found himself debating going to school. The temptation to spend his day careening down the highway was strong, especially given that mornings events. Rationality won out in the end, however, and he soon found himself roaring into Willem High's parking lot, curious students watching wide-eyed.

Killing the bike engine, Wally dismounted. He glanced a boy with dark red hair approaching as he straightened his clothes and finger-brushed his hair.

"Heard rumor you were back, Beatles," the boy greeted and Wally shot him a smirk.

"I told you, Mack, they ain't yet built the boarding school that can hold me," was his cocky reply.

The redhead was all right as far as Wally could tell. They had met in the eighth grade, and for some reason, Mack seemed to take a liking to the other boy, following him around almost like a lost puppy. Wally tolerated it. He fell into a clique of teenagers that didn't allow for loyal or caring relationships, so Wally had a lot of acquaintances and connections but Mack was the closest he'd call a friend.

"Boarding school? I thought your parents sent you to military school?" Mack piped quizzically.

Wally paused at that, furrowing his brow and frowning as he processed the question. He mused quietly, "Ah…so that's why that guy was always yelling in my face…" then shrugged, chuckling, "Certainly explains why he was so pissed off about the walloping I gave him."

"You beat up your drill sergeant?" Mack exclaimed in disbelief, his crystalline blue eyes wide.

"It was just one jab," Wally answered hastily, and then muttering as he started towards the school, "Not my fault the guy blacked right out."

Mack fell in line beside the blond Aussie, saying, "I like the bike, by the way," and together headed into school.

People stopped to stare, a few teens changing directions when they saw Wally coming by and if the boy noticed, he remained outwardly unperturbed by it. He walked with a certain swagger, eyes focused forward, and mouth pulled into a taut frown. He kept his muscles loose, his senses alert, and his shoulders squared. He marched forward as though ready for a fight. Part of him liked the reaction he drew from his peers, that mixture of fear and respect, but a deeper more hidden side, hated his reputation and the attention that came with it. He could hear the whispers of his fellow students as he went by, "…just got out of prison…", "…put a kid in the hospital…", "…killed a man…" and could feel each word branding him. They weren't true but they became a part of him so much so that he almost believed them himself.

The two teenagers entered their homeroom and Wally bit back a groan when he noticed the group huddled in the back, recognizing the faces of the small group. Mack just peered curiously.

"You're in for it now," a rough feminine voice strained from the center of the group. There came a slam of flesh hitting desk and that same girl gave a 'whoop' of excitement, "Pinned ya' again, baldy!"

"Hey, Beatles," a short teen in a cowboy hat called out over the shouting of his friends. The room fell silent. Wally froze, tensing; he turned his attention to the group, now eyeing him.

"What do you want, Runt?" Wally hissed. He noted the whole gang was there. Tall and bulky Lunk, buck-toothed Goof, ruddy haired Wilbur, and feisty Dixie. They were joined by a strange bald kid that Wally didn't recognize. He seemed to have just been defeated by Dixie in an arm-wrestling match. His hand still lay forlornly, palm up on his desk, as he gave Wally a once over.

Runt was moving towards the newly arrived boys at the front of the room, a sly grin on his face, "I'm surprised they let you back in the school. How was boot camp?"

"Peachy," Wally replied with false cheer. The pint-sized Cowboy put an arm across his shoulders, which was given a dangerous look, and started to lead him to the back of the room. Runt and Wally were far from being friends; in fact, they hated one another. But they respected and, at times, mutually benefited each other. So they tried to be diplomatic. Begrudgingly, Wally went with Runt to the back, Mack following uncertainly behind.

"Well I'm glad your back," came the response, an obvious lie, then excitedly, "I want you to meet the new guy."

Dixie batted her lashes up at the blond boy when he joined their circle.

"Hi, Wally," she said sweetly. Runt hid his scowl but not before Wally noticed, with a satisfied smirk.

"Morning, Dixie," he returned the greeting with just as much sugar in his tone.

"This here is Nigel Uno," Runt introduced and Wally turned his attention to the bald boy, "Nigel, meet Wallabee Beatles."

"It's nice to meet you, Wallabee," Nigel spoke up, sounding a bit stiff.

Wally felt himself grow tense as well, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. For whatever reason he couldn't understand there was something about this boy that put him on edge. The danger he saw everywhere increased ten-fold, his heart pounding, his body subconsciously taking a fighting stance. Images of dark figures striking out swam into his thoughts, everywhere was an enemy waiting to spring out and attack.

"We thought it might make Nigel feel more at home to know he's got one of his own countrymen here at school," Wilbur spoke up. Both Wally and Nigel's eye brows shot up at that, and not because the charitable act was completely out of character for those five teenagers.

"What?" Wally sputtered, "He's not one of my countrymen."

"Really? We thought he was," Runt interjected, genuinely surprised.

"You both talk funny like British people," Dixie threw in.

"What did you just call me…" Wally growled, he stepped forward angrily rolling up a sleeve but Nigel interrupted.

"Now wait just a second," he started plaintively, tone strong and commanding, "First off, it is quite obvious that Mister Beatles here is not English. He's an…Ozzie, right?" He looked to the blond for confirmation, receiving a curt nod, to which he continued, "And second, we British do not talk funny, if anyone has a strange accent, it's Americans."

Wally's frustration dissipated at that and he snickered, "Yeah, you Yanks are the ones that sound weird," then in a perfect imitation, "You all talk like this."

Their companions stared blankly at the blond, obviously they hadn't known he could do that, but Nigel joined in the Australian's laughter, saying, "That's really good. My American is terrible," he dropped his inflection to one sounding reminisce of Wild Bill Hickok, "Ya'll get along now, ya' here," then returning to normal, "And that's all I can do."

Together, the two foreign boys burst into uproarious laughter, clutching at the desks for support.

"Oh, oh, how about this…" Wally went into a California brogue, "Surfs up, dudes. Let's catch some waves," clutching his stomach with one hand and holding out a 'hang loose' with the other. Nigel snorted loudly at that. The five mistaken teenagers shuffled uncomfortably. Wally went on with a high-pitched prep school intonation, "Cool beans, man. What's the haps?" Which only caused more laughter to erupt from his British counterpart.

"These bloody Americans, always clumping us together, just because they don't take tea-time. Next they'll be confusing us with Scotsmen," Nigel roared, "…or…or…_Irish_!"

"Hey, I can do a decent Welsh," Wally exclaimed between fits of laughter, "But…but not right now…I can't breathe."

"Well, sorry," Goof sniped, sounding anything but, "Not our fault ya'll sound alike."

Wally and Nigel exchanged a look, seeming to silently agree it wasn't worth the argument, and broke into laughter again. When their chuckles finally died down they wiped the mirth from their eyes and Wally extended a hand.

"You're alright, mate," he declared and Nigel grasped the appendage, shaking it.

"Sorry, you guys, we didn't mean to take a piss at your expense," Nigel apologized to the group of silent onlookers, who were only more baffled by the sentiment.

Wally just muttered, "Speak for yourself."

-1-2-3-4-5-

Abigail Lincoln started her day promptly at five, waking just as the alarm sounded. She dressed in loose sweats; did a few stretches, and was out the door for her early morning four-mile jog. Home twenty-minutes later to bring in the newspaper, glass of water to re-hydrate, half an hour of advanced Tai Chi forms, five minutes breathing exercises, and then a protein shake. Ten-minute shower, blow-dry then braid hair, and a light brush of make-up. Hanging on her door was the outfit she'd laid out the night before, navy blue pinstriped trousers with matching vest over a red short-sleeved blouse. She clipped a gold watch onto her wrist, slipped her usual hoop earrings in, and slid on a pair of white flats.

By six-thirty Abby was downstairs at the dining room table, sipping a cup of coffee, nibbling at a fruit-filled pastry, and reading the newspaper. She merely glanced up when her father came bounding down the stairs, smiling to him over her steaming mug.

"You're running late, daddy," she calmly informed the older man as he struggled to button his shirt while knotting a tie.

"Oh don't you worry 'bout me, princess, you just get yourself off to school," he bubbled response. He noticed the cup in her hands and gleefully cheered, "You made coffee! That's my girl."

"Sorry, daddy, none for you," Abby reminded her father, folding the newspaper and finishing up her pastry, "Doctor's orders."

"Aw…but I am a doctor. Just one cup, we don't have to tell that ol' fogey, Dr. Hux."

Abby sighed, shaking her head. She finished up the last of her own coffee and rinsed the empty mug in the sink, saying over her shoulder, "You know it's not good for you, daddy. 'Sides, there's none left. There's some chamomile tea in the cupboard," she pecked her father on the cheek in passing, "I'm off to school. Have a great day at work."

"I don't want no chamomile tea…Cree would've let me have some coffee," Dr. Lincoln complained, and then shouting as Abby stepped out the door, "Have fun at school, princess!"

For her Sweet Sixteen, Abby had received, amongst other gifts, a cherry red Toyota Prius with a faux leather interior. She slid in, started up the car, and was instantly basked in the soulful tenor of Ella Fitzgerald. Her ride to school was slow and uneventful, just the way she liked it. One of the first few students to arrive, she made her way to the journalism room. Before summer, she'd been selected as editor of the student newspaper, The Willem Rag, and she was eager to organize the small office that came with her new position. She frowned, however, when she entered the room and found a girl with poofy blonde hair typing away at one of the computers.

"Valerie," Abby acknowledged in a rough whisper, "What are you doing here?" Said blonde girl paused at that, turning slightly to face her new companion.

"Oh Abigail, how nice to see you," Valerie greeted. The two had been rivals since as long as either could remember, so both knew how fake the friendly candor in her tone was, "As star reporter for The Willem Rag, I thought I'd get started on my first front page article."

Abby folded her arms over her chest, "Is that right? I haven't even handed out assignments yet. And just what makes you think your article will be front page, girl?"

"Please, Abigail," Valerie scoffed, "Who wouldn't want to read about my romantic trip to Venice? And of course everything I write will be front page. We both know all the other journalist students are hacks that wouldn't know a pronoun from a predicate."

"Whatever," Abby muttered, fighting the urge to make a face. As much as she hated to admit it, Valerie was right. The stuck up poodle was the best writer for the paper, even if her stories were self-promoting fluff pieces.

Abby made her way for the editor's office, a small cubicle sized room that was originally meant as a storage closet. Inside was a small desk with an ancient PC, a printer, and an empty filing cabinet. She took a deep satisfied breath and nearly choked on the dust that had gathered in the room over summer. Technically she would be sharing the office with the journalism teacher, but Mr. Post never spent much time in the class.

With a pencil holder from home, complete with sharpened No. 2 pencils, and a family picture hung on the wall, Abby decided the office looked cozier. She placed a fresh pack of multi-colored Post-its and a stapler to one corner, then plopped an oversized binder from out of her tote bag onto the center of the desk. Opening the tome labeled 'Ideas', she started scanning its contents, making notes with a red ink pen, the only noise in the room being Valerie clacking at the keyboard.

After several minutes, Abby felt her mind wandering, which was unusual for her. She leaned back into the desk chair and stared up at the ceiling, chewing her pen. Almost out of nowhere, she realized she'd had that dream again. In it she was an operative for some organization; serving alongside four other nameless, faceless agents, in a war that's purpose was a mystery to her. She was also ten. But that was all she could remember.

Abby jumped when a loud vibration went off in her pack and she dug out her cell phone while taking steadying breaths. It was a text message from her older sister. Cree had left home only a few weeks ago for university; she was attending Dartmouth. Abby smiled. Though fights between the two could be described as "deadly" at best, and even that was an understatement, the girls were close.

_Good luck…and give 'em hell, Abs_, the text read. Abby typed a brief response then noticed the time, clucking her tongue. Five minutes to bell. She snatched up her tote bag, shoving the oversized binder back into place, and slung it up on her shoulder. She noted Valerie was already gone as she rushed from the room. With practiced ease, Abby maneuvered through the crowd, absently waving as people called out to her. She turned a corner and rammed into something hard and solid, tumbling to the ground.

"Oh…ow…" she murmured,

"You should be more careful, Abigail," three voices chimed as one and Abby grimaced, looking up at the chastising speakers as she struggled up from the ground.

Despite moving and speaking as though one, the Wigglestein siblings were three not-quite-individual teenagers. At the front was Bruce, his blond hair parted down the middle and slicked in place with hair gel. His sister, Ashley, stood to his right, slightly shorter with a frilly pink bow atop her neatly trimmed tresses. Behind Bruce's left shoulder lurked their brother Lenny, a black boy with a mouth full of metal. They all bore the same perfect cerulean eyes and wore the same smarmy grins. The boys were dressed in the same uniforms, crisp blue trousers with matching jackets, perfectly white button downs with bright red ties, and shiny black loafers. Ashley wore a similar white blouse and red tie to her brothers, but in the place of blue trousers was a pleated skirt, and she had on knee high white socks and black patent Mary Janes.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry," Abby muttered, rubbing her sore backside and straightening herself, "Why aren't you three in class already? Don't you go straight to homeroom in the morning?"

"Oh yes, Abigail, but we had…other matters…to attend to this morning," came the unified response. They giggled as they said the words 'other matters' as though an inside joke and Abby rolled her eyes. She didn't have time for their creepy mind games but mentally filed their odd behavior away for later.

"_Right_," she drawled out, before curtly informing the three 'delightful' youths, "Abby has to get going but this has a been a real pleasure. Maybe I'll see you later," muttering under her breath, "…but not if I can help it." She edged around them, forcing a polite smile on her face as she backed away.

"Oh we'll see you later, Abigail," the three called after her in a singsong way, "Most definitely."

Shivers ran up Abigail's spine as she continued through the crowd. The bell resounded overhead, and after a few heartbeats, most of the students started to shuffle towards their own homerooms. Abby reached assigned class, tugging the door open and stumbling inside. She smiled at the occupants, a few students scattered here and there talking to their friends around them. Some of them spoke up to greet her and she nodded acknowledgment their way, taking a seat front and center of the class.

Pulling a notepad and pen from her tote, Abby did a quick scan of the room.

Jimmy McGarfield was in the far corner, his usual bolero tie in place around his neck, flirting with a gaggle of girls. She wondered if he and his 'on and off' girlfriend since fifth grade, Anna Worthington were currently 'off'. Sadly, Abby knew she would have heard if that were the case. She smirked cruelly, noting that the flagrant playboy had gained weight over the summer. In her pad, Abby wrote down the names of those girls he was flirting with as they could come in handy later; Tiffany Nada, Natima Portánt, Lizzie Devine, and Donatella May.

To the far back of the room, Jerry Rassic with his permanently scrunched face seemed to be discussing something with Willard Wallace, a rotund spectacled boy nearly hidden behind his sousaphone. Abby ignored them, though mentally catalogued their conversation as 'possibly of interest" given that neither of the boys were friends.

Continuing along to the back corner was Fanny Fulbrite practically sitting in the lap of her boyfriend of three years, Ricky Strowd. He was attractive in a pretty boy way, with feathered blond hair and alluring blue eyes shadowed by thick lashes. He was wearing a puffy silk thespian shirt and black skinny pant jeans. They were amongst a group of Ricky's friends from the Drama club, most notably Brand Alberto who was flamboyant as ever but boring as well.

Despite sticking out like a sore thumb, Fanny giggled along with everyone else at jokes she obviously didn't understand. She seemed entirely focused on holding herself in a feminine way, smiling sweetly, and making herself appear timid and gentile. Ricky whispered something in Fanny's ear and she flushed, her face rivaling the color of her hair.

"Still going strong," Abby murmured to herself in regards to the couple.

A few desks down, Kuki Sanban sat hunched over her own notebook, head resting in the crook of her arm. Her long black hair trickled down the side of the desk, and her dark eyes were focused as her pen swooped and twirled elegantly across the paper in front of her. She had the tip of her tongue pressed to the upper corner of her mouth looking every bit like an adorable child happily doodling.

If there was one thing truly good, purely innocent in the world, Kuki Sanban was it. She was sweet and kind, cheerful and caring. She paid attention in class, did her homework, smiled at everyone in the hall, laughed at jokes that weren't funny so the teller wasn't alone, and even volunteered for tasks that no one else wanted to do. So good was this girl that if someone told Abby that small woodland creatures had dressed Kuki that morning, she would believe it as she believed the sun rose in the east and set in the west. Unfortunately, that meant there wasn't much to note.

Standing by the far wall was Alison Wilgus and Angelie Xenon, laughing and giggling. The two were best friends and the worst gossips. They spread rumors like wildfire, and more than once, Abigail had been a victim of their slander. It was sad that not everyone had Abby's powerful blackmailing abilities to put a stopper to the rumors like she had. Alison had a new Coach purse and her usually perfectly manicured nails were trimmed low. Abby jotted in her pad, _where does Alison work_.

Abby, to her relief, didn't usually share classes with Hoagie P. Gilligan Jr. so it was a surprise to glance him in the middle row. The boy was smart and seemed kind but gangly and a bit socially awkward. He tended to make wisecracks that no one else understood and was probably the only student in the entirety of Willem High School that could unravel Abby's cool. He had a distinct way of grating her nerves and had been doing so since elementary school, even though neither had ever talked much. His focus was on a girl sitting to the right of Kuki. A new crush, Abby easily deduced. She rolled her eyes deciding, out of his league. The boy was hopeless.

The brunette, Abby noted, was Patricia Juni. She had moved to town in the eighth grade, a shy bundle of nerves. Kuki, being love and care incarnate, eagerly befriended her and Patty latched onto the kind Japanese girl. Being so quiet and predictably well behaved made her of little interest, though Abigail did take note of a split knuckle on the mousy girl's right hand. Probably just a nasty paper cut.

Abby turned her seemingly disinterested focus on the door as it opened and a boy with spiked orange hair and of obvious Hispanic descent waltzed in. Carlos Campeón, Abby had to admit, was hot. He was tall, nicely bronzed, and well toned; his barrel like chest a solid mass and his biceps huge. His white t-shirt pulled taut over nicely defined muscles and loose fitted blue jeans only served to intensify the attractive image. He had on black, steel-toed boots and his doe brown eyes were hidden behind square-rimmed sunglasses. Abby was aware she was staring, maybe even drooling a little, but she also knew every other girl in class was doing the same which lessened her shame.

Well, almost every girl in class was staring. Carlos slipped into the desk next to Kuki, still concentrated on her developing picture. She hadn't so much as glanced up when he'd entered and, even as he leaned over to peer at her paper, she paid him little heed. The entire room waited with bated breath, all eyes on the two teenagers in the front row. Kuki still furiously scribbled on her paper, Carlos not-at-all-discreetly watched her.

The two were the biggest talk of the school, everyone wondering when they would finally get together. Carlos never made it a secret that he wanted Kuki. Yet, for whatever reason, through the years of Carlos openly flirting and asking her out on intimate dates, the two remained 'just friends'. For most it wasn't readily obvious why their relationship remained platonic but Abigail could take a fairly decent guess at the hold-up. Kuki just didn't get it. Carlos was a friendly guy and, while he wasn't a "player" per se, he casually flirted with the general female population. Abby suspected Kuki confused his romantic advances as him just treating her as he did all girls. She didn't understand that she was special.

"Nice drawing," Carlos finally said, a sexy Spanish lisp in his words, and the entire class released their breath as one. Kuki startled, blinking her eyes as though awaking from a trance. She turned her head slowly, wearily, to face him.

"Oh…hi, Ace," Kuki mumbled distantly, "When did you get here?"

Abigail leaned back in her desk chair. She jotted a few more notes in the pad before tucking it securely away back in her tote bag. The final bell rang, a few more students rushing through the door, and soon all the seats in the class were filled. The teacher, a knobby-jointed woman who had sat reading at her desk the entire time, put her book down and finally stepped to the front of the room.

* * *

AN: I can just see all your baffled faces right now. In due time, everything will be revealed, in due time.

I have to apologize for that Wally and Nigel scene. I really couldn't help myself. The reasoning for it was mainly because of my own personal difficulty telling the difference between English and Australian accents. I also should mention, I LOVE the fact that both of those characters are international. I'm going to have SO much fun looking up slang for the both of them. Bye the way, I apologize in advance for any English or Aussie slang I might use incorrectly. I try my darndest, but sometimes sources aren't as reliable as I wish they could be. On a side note, while researching Australian slang, I found that in Oz (Australia) the term "Wally" is applied to an individual who makes a lot of mistakes. Doesn't that sound like our lovely Numbah 4?

Oh, I forgot to mention also, in the last chapter, I'm not sure how obvious it was but Hoagie's friend "Arthur" is supposed to be Numbah 42, from Operation UNCOOL. He didn't have a name but I read that his character's number is a reference to the book Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, so I used the name of the main character from that series, "Arthur Dent". In this chapter, I gave Ace's character the name "Carlos" for his voice actor and "Campeon" which is the spanish word for "Champion".

And I introduced another OC, being Mack. That's all. Oh I hope you enjoyed it...


	4. Chapter 3

AN: I'm late for work! Gah! Thus is my dedication to you readers and this fanfic. So. Review! Hehehe....

I'm kind of disheartened. Last chapter had a few less reviews than I was hoping to recieve, and I was missing feedback from readers I was hoping to hear from. I don't know if maybe they were busy or if that means I've lost some audience already...how sad. Le sigh.

Okie, uh....read.

* * *

Chapter 3:

Class had just begun when the Kids Next Door Emergency Transmitter strapped to Joey's wrist went off, a tiny red light flashing silently. He glanced to the other operatives in his sector. Kalani, a bulky dark-skinned girl with golden hair; T.S, a tiny raven-haired boy with jade eyes; and Louisa, a buck-toothed girl with sandy colored curls. All were looking at their own transmitters. They turned to him for instruction. He hardened his features and gave a small nod.

In unison, their chairs fell back to the ground and jetted from the class. Dummies mocked up to resemble each of them took their place. In the solitude of a locked janitor's closet, the four kids assembled.

"Yowza, our first mission," Louisa exclaimed as soon as they were certain of their privacy. A bit goofy and excitable, she was their 2x4 tech, a backpack full of gadgets constantly strapped to her back, "What should we do first? Look at the mission specs? Contact Global Command?"

"Calm down, Numbuh 3.14159," Joey interrupted her, sounding annoyed. He took an authoritative stance in the middle of the group, "The first thing _you_ need to do is act like an operative and not a cadet at your first simulation."

"Sorry," the frizzy haired girl mumbled, lowering her head.

From looking around, it was obvious to Joey the other operatives felt as jittery as Numbuh 3.14159. The group had only just graduated from the Artic Base a couple months ago and had never been on a mission without the guidance and supervision of veteran field agents. Even as the entrusted leader of the newly assembled Sector V, Joey was at a bit of a loss for direction. It didn't help that he was still flustered from that morning's events with his brother. He knew he had to put that aside though. The rights of children everywhere were at stake…probably. Mentally, he ran through old lessons from training.

"Okay…red light flashing is a distress signal…" Joey mused aloud.

"…that none of us sent out," Kalani finished for him, she was their combat specialist and Joey's second in command. Her weapon of choice was a licorice whip, one always coiled around her waist, "Why are we picking up a distress signal that none of us sent out? I thought these were short range."

"That's right, Numbuh 1959, specifically designed for in-sector use," Numbuh 3.14159 confirmed, "Though it is possible another sector is on mission in the area…isn't it?" She turned to Joey with uncertainty.

"Yes. I guess so anyhow. We should have been notified about it, though," Joey replied, frowning and folding his arms over his chest, fixing a glare on the floor.

The youngest Beatles didn't like the implication that they might have been left out of the loop. It was bad enough that their sector wasn't even assigned a tree house. The original Sector V had been famous, arguably some of the best operatives of their generation, but after they'd been decommissioned rumors circled that their tree house was haunted. Eventually, the whereabouts of its location were lost over the years, along with the identities of the operatives that had served in it.

Joey kicked at the floor and muttered, "Ah crud."

"Maybe it was a fluke," T.S. spoke up, he was quiet and a bit of a coward, a stuffed rabbit he always carried with him like a security blanket was tied to his belt, but he was excellent at stealth and infiltration, "Some sort of malfunction."

"Or maybe someone accidentally set off the alarm. Sound like something anyone you know would do, Numbuh 68?" Kalani jeered at the smaller boy. His cheeks burned bright red and he found a sudden interest in his feet.

"Lay off him, Numbuh 1959," Louisa growled, "If he'd sent out the distress signal his beacon wouldn't be lit. And it wasn't a malfunction either, I just ran a diagnostic check on these things last week."

"It looks like we're going to have to contact Global Command," Joey finally sighed, "You got the L.U.N.C.H.B.O.C.K.S., Numbuh 3.14159?"

Louisa dug into her pack, tugging out the lunchbox shaped computer. She handed it over to her leader. He propped it up on a shelf and, opening it, radioed Global Command. It wasn't long before a face filled the screen within the tiny tin pail.

"What is it, Numbuh 25?" the ten-year-old boy on the video feed greeted tersely. Joey flinched slightly, butterflies knocking around in his stomach. He'd never personally contacted Global Command before and he felt sort of silly having to call to ask a question he should probably already know the answer to.

"Oh…uh…well you see…" Joey stammered, "The thing is that…um…er…Numbuh 5,072, sir…uh…we…uh…were wondering…"

"Just spit it out, kid," the boy snapped impatiently.

"My sector picked up a distress signal on our short range transmitters that none of us sent out and we were wondering if it was possible there was another sector on mission in the area who's signal we could maybe be picking up?" Joey blurted out all at once. Numbuh 5,072 blinked owlishly then gave a 'harrumph'.

"As far as I am aware there are no active missions in your area," the older boy finally said and then snidely questioned, "Are you _sure_ someone in your sector didn't accidentally send out the distress signal?"

Kalani looked pointedly at T.S. but Joey just sighed and shook his head.

"Right. Thanks for your help, Numbuh 5,072. Sorry to bother you."

Switching the L.U.N.C.H.B.O.C.K.S. off, Joey turned to his comrades. Kalani was still glaring at a sheepish T.S. and Louisa seemed interested in a dust broom, most likely thinking of a way to use it in a new 2x4 design.

"I guess for now we'll just chock this up to a fluke," Joey decided as the others looked to him with mild interest, "We'll investigate further after school."

The other three piped up agreement but T.S. still looked nervous, his eyes downcast and his cheeks tinged pink. Joey smirked, maybe Numbuh 68 did accidentally send out that distress signal.

-5-4-3-2-1-

_Nice picture_, Ace had said. Kuki glared at the paper in front of her; deep cutting lines, dizzy swirls and haphazard scribbles, as the homeroom teacher droned on from the front of class. She could see in her mind how the image came together. A vision of the sky seen through thick branches, of a hot summer day spent laughing and playing. She glanced across the room to Abigail Lincoln, not too many desks down, taking notes and engulfed in the teacher's orientation. Then there was Hoagie. She didn't have to turn back to know he was there grinning goofily. His presence alone made her feel warm and at ease.

How strange, Kuki mused, to feel so connected to two people who barely acknowledged her existence. But why would Abigail or Hoagie ever speak or look to her? They didn't see the harmonious scenes that Kuki did, of five happy-go-lucky kids building castles in the sand. They didn't hear the laughter, the words of encouragement, or see smiles lit like the sun. They didn't shuffle through the day looking for friendly familiar faces to only find strangers staring blankly back at them.

We were friends once, weren't we, Kuki wondered. Then why did they ignore her? Why couldn't they remember that they were friends with her once? And why were her own memories so fuzzy and disjointed? Why couldn't she remember any specific incidences? Why did every snapshot in her mind, every 'memory', feel like a dream? Was it real? Were they false hopes?

Thinking about it made Kuki's head hurt. It was like there was a blockade, a stopper, keeping her locked away from thoughts and memories. She knew them but she didn't know them. She remembered being friends with them but she didn't remember being friends with them. The contradictions just mounted one on top of the other, concepts she couldn't wrap her mind around.

A slip of paper flittered over the top of the ink drawing. Kuki furrowed her brow, and then glanced to Ace staring straight ahead. He looked to her and motioned with his head. Confused, she gently picked up the paper then looked over her shoulder to Patricia on her right. A light went off in Kuki's head. He wanted her to pass it on. She smiled inwardly.

Ace was always so friendly with the girls, much nicer than any of the other boys. He most likely just wanted to wish Patricia a good day, compliment her on her new hairstyle, or ask how she was doing. It made perfect sense to Kuki as Patricia was such a quiet girl and she got nervous so easily around others. He was probably trying to make her feel more at ease. She slid the tiny slip on Patty's desk. The brunette eyed the note with surprise, looking to her friend. The petite Asian covered a smile and pointed to Ace, not noticing how wide his eyes had gone when he'd realized where his message had ended up.

With a raised brow, Patty daintily plucked the paper from her desk and glanced over it. Her checks flushed and she glanced at an abashed Ace with an amused smirk. Kuki had returned to her drawing, continuing to add new marks to her masterpiece whilst missing the silent exchange that passed between the two teens. Ace looked pointedly at the note then Kuki to indicate it had been meant for her, Patty simply gave him a sadistic smile. She crunched the paper in her hand in a threatening way then shoved it in her book bag. She then wagged a chastising finger at the baffled Latin boy.

When Kuki turned her attention away from her drawing again, Ace's expression was dark and Patty was innocently watching the teacher. They smiled to her, Ace a bit sullenly, Patty brightly, and Kuki cheerfully returned the gesture to both of them. The teacher finished talking, the bell rang. Everyone in the class scrambled to gather his or her things and started for the door. Ace hurried to catch up with Kuki, who had already started out of class, only to be cut off by Patty.

"That was longer than I thought it would be," Kuki complained to Patty, linking their arms, then eyeing her friend surreptitiously, "So…what did Ace want?"

Patty flustered at the question, shying into her self and twirling a strand of hair about a finger. The perfect picture of a shy, meek, mousy girl, "Oh, he just said I looked cute today was all."

"That's because you do look cute," Kuki giggled.

Still near homeroom, Fanny lingered with her boyfriend, Ricky. He had leaned her against the wall of lockers; a curl of her hair weaved about his fingers. She was flustered, her entire face so red it hid the freckles peppered across her nose. She held her notebooks clutched tightly to her chest.

"Everyone is looking," she told him in a harsh whisper.

"Only out of jealousy," he replied, his breath hot against her skin as he brushed his lips along her jaw line, "They wish they knew love like ours." She placed a hand on his slender chest, gently pushing him back and forcing herself to meet his eyes.

"I should be going to class," she murmured, attempting to maneuver out from beneath him but he sidestepped into her path. She hated how small she felt under his gaze. She wasn't one for public display and he knew that. She believed there was a time and a place and the hallways of school surrounded by jeering peers was not it.

_Love like ours._ Fanny wanted him to always say those kinds of things to her. No other boy had ever shown her that sort of attention. She knew she wasn't attractive. That she was not beautiful or sexy, not sweet or kind-hearted. No one looked at her and thought of her as anything other than loud-mouthed obnoxious Fanny. No one, that is, except Ricky. She'd do anything to keep it like that, this boy's eyes on her.

Even if it meant wearing slinky uncomfortable garments everyday, high heels she couldn't walk in, waking up hours earlier to do her hair and carefully apply layers of make-up when all she wanted to do was lounge in sweats and throw her curls into a ponytail. Even if it meant biting her tongue when all she wanted to do was yell and scream. Even if it meant sitting through horrible plays and musicals when all she wanted was to be home watching wrestling or monster trucks. She would do it all and more just to have him continue caressing her against him and whispering sweet nothings in her ear. Just to feel beautiful and sexy, sweet and kind-hearted, just to feel loved, for one moment.

So even as Fanny's insides were screaming to leave, to run for her next class, she stayed put. Ricky leaned in, a hand on her hip and captured her lips. It didn't help her win arguments that he was such a good kisser. His mouth was so soft and warm, it moved in just the right way with just the perfect amount of pressure. It made her sink into him, drawing a satisfied smirk across his features. It made a soft moan escape her throat, made her knees weak and her head swoon.

"Hey, why don't you two get a room?" a voice suddenly cut in and Fanny hastily shoved Ricky away before mentally slapping her self for how un-lady-like the action was. She found herself glaring haughtily up into kohl black eyes.

The speaker was a football player evident by the Varsity lettermen jacket he had on. Fanny knew him as the quarterback, last year's homecoming king, and prom prince. He wore a bemused smile; his friends laughing beside him, his arm strapped around the shoulders of a blonde girl with hard blue eyes staring the tiny Irish girl down.

"Leave the love birds alone, Patton," the blonde spoke up, her tone rough and hard. Fanny recognized her as head cheerleader, the student body president, as well as MVP for both the volleyball and softball teams. Apparently she was also Mister Popularity's girlfriend for the month.

"That's quite all right, Miss McKenzie, he doesn't bother us," Ricky jovially excused the comment, moving closer to Fanny once more to wrap her hair about his fingers and place his other hand again on her hip, "You know, that jealousy of yours is hardly becoming, Drilovsky. You should pay more attention to the lady on your own arm."

Rachel McKenzie just snorted lightly and shook her head, a slight smile seeming to grace her features but Patton nearly burst out laughing, "Jealousy?" he sputtered, flickering his eyes on Fanny momentarily then back to Ricky, "Uh…yeah…that's a good one. Honestly, I was only concerned for the innocent by-standers. I don't know what's more horrifying, Strowd, your kiss-y face or Fulbrite masquerading as a girl."

Fanny looked away, uncertain of whether to cry or scream or both. As if her day couldn't get more embarrassing, her own boyfriend had to set her up to be inadvertently rejected by one of the most popular boys in school, captain of the football team, Patton Drilovsky. It wasn't as though she'd ever been interested in him in the first place but did he really have to laugh at the idea of finding her attractive. She found herself torn between the desire to knock the lights out of the burly football player and wanting to appear dainty and in distress so that Ricky could be the knight in shining armor he loved so much to play.

Overwhelmed, Fanny barely registered Rachel muttering, "Come on, Patton. Leave them alone, let's just get to class."

Ricky started in on a fresh retort, however, and Fanny sensed a brewing fight that she desperately wanted to escape. From the corner of her eye, she spotted a possible savior. A stout carrot top stood down the hall flirting with a group of disinterested boys.

"Oh, Lizzie," she called out, and the rotund girl spun in surprise, "Don't we have the next class together. I'll walk with you." She turned to Ricky, still exchanging jibes with Patton, and quietly told him, "I have to get going. Lizzie wants some company on her way to history."

"Aren't you sweet, always putting others before yourself like a true lady," Ricky cooed, planting a kiss on Fanny's cheek. Rachel was tapping her foot impatiently and Patton just rolled his eyes, "I'll see you at lunch, my love."

"Of course, love," Fanny replied quietly, blushing, her stomach queasy. She could just feel the eyes of their peers burning into her, mocking her, laughing at her. They could see right through her sheep's clothing to the wolf underneath. She tried to walk away as calmly and cutely as possible.

"Maybe you're right, Strowd," Patton jeered after Fanny, "I must be jealous. How could anyone resist a 'true lady' like Fanny Fulbrite?" His friends burst into laughter and Fanny flushed red from head to toe, gritting her teeth.

Stupid football players. Stupid boys. Stupid Patton.

-1-2-3-4-5-

Tommy Gilligan's first day of high school wasn't going so well. To start off the day, he learned that he was in a separate homeroom from his friends. Sonya was stuck with Harvey down one hall, while Lee and Shaunie left together down another. Tommy had made a joke about how he "worked alone" anyhow, but he still felt a tad abandoned. Without the support of friends, Tommy found himself surrounded by uninviting strangers that were all older, larger, and more mature looking than he.

Then he got lost.

Unable to find his homeroom, Tommy had wandered aimlessly through the halls, which quickly emptied of students when the late bell rang. He walked in circles, desperately scouring his map for his homeroom's location in relation to his own. It was a full ten minutes after class had started when he found a hidden corridor that turned off from another hallway and, nearly in tears of frustration, found his room. The entire class fell silent and watched when he entered, teacher scowling disapprovingly as he took an available seat in the back of the room.

As if that entire experience wasn't horrid enough, in the seat just to the left of Tommy had been a surly looking boy with straw colored hair, a freckled face, and deep tan. He wore a necklace made of scallop shells, swim trunks and a pair of Sanuks on his feet. For some reason, he didn't like Tommy. The boy spent the class period glaring, muttering insults, and throwing tiny objects Tommy's direction.

When Tommy finally snapped, yelling, "What's your problem?" He was the one to get in trouble and face the laughs of his classmates. So he shrunk into his desk and attempted to ignore this cruel boy named Sandy.

By third period, Tommy had gotten a hang of the school's layout but had a nasty run-in with some malicious upperclassmen led by an oversized ape-man calling himself Ernest – not Ernie – never Ernie, Tommy soon learned.. He found himself handing over his lunch money, complaining, "When I tell my big brother Hoagie about this you're all in so much trouble," to which the older boys had broke into laughter.

Save for the fact he now had no money, Tommy was relieved when the lunch bell rang and even more so when he spotted his friends shuffling in the crowd. Sonya was waiting in the lunch line to buy her food; Lee and Harvey had found a table with their brown bag lunches so Tommy went to join them. Sitting next to Harvey was a slim smirking boy that Tommy did not recognize, apparently a new friend. He had creamy mocha skin, with ruddy hair, and gold flecked eyes.

"Aren't you buying lunch?" Lee questioned when Tommy sat down, but the disheartened butterball just buried his face in his arms atop the table.

"…stole…money," he mumbled barely audibly.

"Someone stole your money?" the unknown boy gawked, "Did you tell a teacher?"

"What would be the point?" Tommy demanded, sitting upright, "I don't have any way of proving it. The only witnesses were the bully's friends. But you know what I am going to do? I'm going to tell my brother, that's what. Hoagie will make those jerks wish they were never born!"

Much like the bullies had, Harvey burst into laughter, "Oh yeah, because your big brother is _so _scary. My sister could kick his a-"

"Shut up," Tommy snapped, "My brother is the best! He's the greatest! He can do anything in the whole entire…"

Sonya slid into the seat next to the ranting Tommy giving him a sidelong glance then asking Lee, "What did I miss?"

"Harvey's sister is tougher than Hoagie," Lee explained, as he was looking between an apple and a bag of chips from his lunch before decidedly pushing the apple in front of Tommy. His comment earned him a light jab from his still seething friend across the table.

"She is not," Tommy growled. Sonya took the moment to notice the new boy.

"Oh," she chirped pleasantly, "Who are you?"

"My new best friend," Harvey exclaimed proudly, the boy just shrugged not looking at all convinced, and Lee rolled his eyes at his friends who both snickered. They knew Harvey was just trying to show off. The little braggart continued with the introduction, "Leonard Fun-Fun."

"Fun-Fun?" the other three teens repeated in unison.

"Yeah," Leo confirmed, "It's short for my last name, Fünfundzwanzig. It's kind of a mouthful. My…erm…father was German...uh…straight off the boat too. He wore lederhosen everyday, played the accordion, and ate a lot of bratwurst. It's an appropriate nickname for me, though, because I am Fun-Fun."

"_Was_?" Tommy repeated, catching that key word. Leo grimaced a bit but his wide grin stayed intact.

"Yeah…" he mumbled, "My dad is…um…well, he…uh…he died."

"Oh that's terrible," Sonya squealed, hands covering her mouth, eyes wide and shimmering with sympathy. Across from her Harvey made a face, and Lee just shook his head at her overly emotional response, "I am so sorry to hear that!"

"It's not that bad," Leo assured the twittering blonde, "He left me his lederhosen," the group all chuckled slightly at that, "Really though, it's not a big deal. He died a long time ago. I barely knew the guy."

"I know what you mean," Tommy spoke up, fiddling with the apple in front of him, "My dad died too…a long time ago. I don't remember much about him but my older brother, Hoagie, still misses him a lot."

"Really? My older brother is the same way. He's always trying to…" Leo stopped suddenly, seeming to catch himself as though he'd said something he shouldn't have. He shoveled some lunch into his mouth before declaring, "Wow, this cafeteria food is the _brat_-worst," he roared with laughter, Harvey snickering beside him, but the other three just exchanged looks of confusion, "Get it, get it…because I was talking about being German…and then I said the food was 'the brat-_worst'_. You get it?"

"Uh…sure," Lee muttered, shoving a pack of celery sticks and part of his sandwich over to Tommy.

"Hilarious," Tommy agreed. Sonya only smiled behind a hand. Tommy eyed this boy suspiciously. Fun-Fun was hiding something.

-5-4-3-2-1-

Cree waved to her friends over her shoulder, telling them, "I have to call home, check in with the fam. You know how it is, girls."

College was a good place for her. She was surrounded by mature adults; given the space and independence she needed to spread her wings and soar. Not to mention, the distance helped her usually rocky relationship with her little sister. Cree adored Abigail, but sometimes the little mutinous brat made the elder Lincoln girl a tad murderous. The old saying proved true, however, absence did make the heart grow fonder.

A good distance from friends and out of hearing shot from any potential eavesdroppers, Cree tugged out her cell and flipped it open. Pushing speed-dial '1', she held the phone to her ear. It wasn't long before the other line was picked up.

"Father?" she greeted, "Everything is going according to plan. Preparations to deliver your 'special package' are in order and ready for the big day."

"Excellent. I can't wait for delivery day. I can just _imagine_ the looks on all their faces when it arrives."

-1-2-3-4-5-

Ring. Ring. Click.

"Hello?"

"You idiot! What were you thinking? You almost ruined _everything_."

"I'm sorry…I panicked, I didn't know what to do."

"Do? You aren't supposed to _do_ anything. You had one job. Nothing. Do nothing. And you screwed that up!"

"But…"

"But what? What is so important that you almost entirely destroyed everything we have been working all these years towards?"

"I think…well, I saw…um…something _followed _us."

Silence.

"…did you hear…"

"Are you certain? Do we know what it was?"

"I'm not sure but…"

"_But?_"

"It looks like…"

"_Like_?"

"A devourer."

* * *

AN: Sorry this is such a short chapter. It's kind of important though. I forgot to mention a few things, though. Fanny's boyfriend, for those who don't know, is Numbuh 19th Century from Operation: CANYON. I've never seen the episode, so he's probably horribly OOC, to which I apologize.

Hm...um...we got to see Joey as a KND operative. Points to Tera Earth for catching that he was of KND age in this fanfic. Every single member of his unit is an OC, btw. Some of you might be wondering, What about Mushi? We'll see her a little later, so don't fret.

Also, I should mention that, just because I have characters in relationships, doesn't mean they are going to stay that way. This is going to have quite a bit of romance in it too, but a lot of the pairings aren't yet readily obvious. Some are, but not all. This is going to be a really, really, really, long story. I keep thinking about it and it makes my head dizzy.

Things to look forward to in coming chapters; all the gang in one place, drunk Kuki, a strange connection between Wally and Abigail, more information on 'what the heck is going on', a betrayal in their midst, and laying the foundation of various romantic relationships.


	5. Chapter 4

AN: Alright, well...this will be the quickest I will probably ever upload a chapter. I'm kind of impressed with myself for how fast I got this written. It's still not as long as I'd like it to be but it progresses the story right along. A fact I'm quite proud of! I want to mention, I have no idea what happens in 'homeroom'. My high school didn't have "homerooms" but as I understand it some do. Any way, if anyone knows what happens in homeroom or what the purpose of it is, I would really appreciate if they enlightened me. Please? Thanks. Now, read on!

* * *

Chapter 4:

Talking one's way out of a bad situation wasn't exactly Nigel's specialty, but faced that morning with five menacing miscreants, he had somehow managed. At the time Nigel couldn't understand why but the gang-leader Runt had seemed to take an interest in his accent. They asked questions, where he'd come from and what he'd done there. He answered as vaguely as possible as he wasn't certain of their intent. His own version of 'name', 'rank' and 'number'. They asked if he'd been in many fights. He mentioned kung fu despite the fact the extent of his knowledge on the subject was limited to the few Bruce Lee movies he'd seen but it sounded more impressive than the gymnastics and ballet lessons his parents had actually signed him up for.

Implying to be a martial arts master didn't have quite the repulsion effect Nigel was hoping for however. Somehow, it seemed to endear him to the group and suddenly he was arm-wrestling the blonde girl while their comrades told stories and jokes about cattle runs and prairie dogs. It wasn't exactly his idea of the "right crowd" to be falling in with but he wasn't getting his head flushed so he went along with it.

The reason for their interest became apparent, however, when that blond Aussie walked through the door. Runt had lit up, showing Nigel off like some trophy, but the sheen wore off quickly somewhere between Runt's mistake-of-nation and Wally's 'Californian surfer' impression. Things became all the more clear throughout class as the tension between Wally and Runt grew. The two spent much of homeroom muttering insults at one another while their teacher talked. Runt had the better torts but what Wally lacked in wit he made up for with superbly intimidating glares.

By the ending bell, Nigel had deduced that both boys hated one another. He hadn't yet worked out why his nationality had been of import to the pint-sized gang leader but he realized fairly early on that Wally was a tough bloke. It had been Nigel's experience that most Australians were forces to be reckoned with but Wally apparently took the cake when it came to fearsome. Even though they were five to one; and despite only being average height, not exactly abundant in muscle mass, and other than the glint in his green eyes not appearing to be all that impressive, they backed down from him.

Wally was a loaded gun and Runt wanted one to counter him.

Even without their brief bonding moment of 'ahs' and 'ays', Nigel realized he liked the Aussie over the cowboy. Not because they were both transplanted foreigners, not because Wally hadn't tried to use him like Runt had, and not because Wally was obviously the 'bigger man' on campus. Wally was just more honest. He was an easier read than Runt. If the boy had hidden motives, he wasn't aware of it. He was blunt with his opinion and Nigel, for whom trust did not come easily, respected that.

Then there was the other thing.

When the Australian had walked through the door that morning, and Nigel first laid eyes on him, it had sprung to mind that same "familiar-stranger" vibe as the adorable Japanese girl earlier. However, when he tried to recall any memory of Wally, much like Kuki, all he could think of were numbers. Then there was that room. Tree branches, he recalled tree branches. Wooden planks, the entire room was constructed of wooden planks. Bright sunlight streaming through green leaves. A tree house? Numbers, numbers, and more numbers.

Whatever the case, however, Nigel was relieved to have seemingly made a friend. As he exited homeroom, Wally waited for him at the door with a red-haired boy introduced as Mackerel Herring. They walked down the hall with one another exchanging friendly conversation. Nigel talked about England, how he'd lived in America and moved back there at thirteen. He learned that Wally had lived in the U.S. since age seven, giving them another commonality. They'd both spent more time in the states then their "home" countries yet they still felt like outsiders. Strangers in a strange land.

"I find that talking 'Strine keeps me close to Oz, ya' know?" Wally told Nigel, adding, "Besides, it confuses the hell out of the seppos."

Nigel wasn't familiar with the term "seppos", assuming it was some form of rhyming slang, but it seemed to bother Mack so he didn't ask for elaboration. Supporting Nigel's theory that Wally wasn't someone people messed with, most students steered clear of the three boys as they walked along. They eventually split, however. Mack and Nigel had their first period class together, Wally leaving without bothering to say good-bye.

"He's an interesting character," Nigel commented after the retreating Aussie, uncertainly. Mack hadn't done much talking so the Brit felt suddenly nervous under those piercing blue eyes, similar to his own, yet colder and more intense.

"He's a good guy," Mack replied, leading them down the hall towards class, "You might peg him as a bully at first, only looking out for himself, but that's not true at all."

"You two must be really good friends."

Mack paused, thoughtful, "No. Wally doesn't have friends. He has people he wants to punch and people he doesn't."

"But I thought…"

"If Wally cares about something, he protects it. If he believes in something, he fights for it. In order to do that, he needs his walls. That kind of distance from others and from himself gives him the strength to do what is necessary, what no else could do. I'm the same way. We're not friends, we just have a mutual understanding of one another," Mack explained, he stopped again, hand on the doorknob to their class, staring Nigel down, "What about you?"

Under that stony glare, Nigel squirmed slightly, swallowing hard. The determination in Mack's eyes, the sincerity in his words, there was something off about this boy, something frighteningly off. In the crowded school hallway, standing in jeans and a t-shirt with sneakers on his feet and a backpack hanging off his shoulders, Mack reminded Nigel of an old war veteran that would sit all day in the tavern cradling a pint of whiskey drowning in the terrors of his past.

Shaking the image from his mind, Nigel chuckled in an attempt to lighten the mood, "Sounds a tad lonely to me."

For a moment more, Mack held Nigel in his gaze as though searching for something and Nigel shifted uncomfortably. The redhead turned away, shaking his head and muttering, "You'll know. Sooner or later, we all find out who we really are."

To Nigel's relief, the two didn't talk the rest of the class and went their separate directions for third period.

Entering his next class, the Brit found himself looking at another familiar stranger, an awkward boy with dark auburn tangles and cobalt eyes hidden behind yellow tinged lenses. They held each other's gaze, wearing mirror expressions of confusion and fuzzy nostalgia. After a moment, Nigel, emboldened by his meetings with Kuki and Wally, took a seat next to the boy.

Nigel was starting to get frustrated by his inability to recollect anything beyond numbers when it came to these select teens. He'd been too surprised by Kuki, and Wally didn't show signs of being cursed with the same amnesiac affliction, but from this boy's cocked brow and shimmering eyes, it was obvious he and Nigel were on the same wavelength. Perhaps that meant he had answers or, at least, the same questions.

"Did you go to Gallagher?" Nigel asked unhesitatingly, his tone like that of an interrogator.

"Are you _English_?" the boy countered in surprise, earning an exasperated sigh.

"Yes. I'm English. Did you go to Gallagher or not?"

"Yeah," the boy responded, then lighting up, "Hey did you go to Gallagher too? I knew you looked familiar! Wait…who the heck are you? I mean, you would think I'd remember the name of a bald British kid…or at least remember going to the same school as one. Not an everyday occurrence, you know? Most British kids have hair! Hey wait, were you bald in elementary school or is this a…uh…recent development?"

Nigel smacked his face. He may have been wrong. It was possible this boy was an idiot.

"Hoagie Gilligan," the boy said out-of-nowhere, and Nigel looked curiously at him through spread fingers.

"What's that?"

"My name," Hoagie explained, slapping on an infectiously friendly smile that spread to Nigel's face.

"Oh. Well, it's a pleasure to meet you then, Hoagie, I'm Nigel Uno," the Brit replied.

"Hold on to that thought," Hoagie cautioned, leaning back and frowning at the ceiling, "Because you might change your mind later."

Nigel furrowed his brow, but didn't push it. Instead, he turned his attention back to the subject that had originally brought him to that boy, "A moment ago, you said I had looked familiar…?"

"Hm…oh yeah," Hoagie nodded, sitting up and fixing his baby blues back on the bald boy, "But you went to Gallagher, right? If we went to the same school then we must have seen each other at some point."

"Yes, I suppose," Nigel murmured, "Except…"

"What?"

"Well…I'm usually excellent at recalling people," Nigel explained, cupping his chin in the palm of a hand, "I could remember Fanny Fulbrite with little trouble."

"Yeah, 'cause she's hard to forget," Hoagie snorted dripping sarcasm.

"I've recognized quite a few old classmates already," Nigel continued, ignoring the comment, "But then you and those other two I can't recall at all however you all feel so familiar. It is as though I should know you more so than anyone but my recollections are of only numbers and weird images of places I've never been to..." Realizing he was starting to sound a little crazy, Nigel cut off, saying, "I'm not making any sense."

"What other two?" Hoagie caught the other boy by surprise. Nigel glanced at him, he sounded serious and looked pensive.

Okay, maybe Hoagie wasn't an idiot.

The late bell interrupted their conversation and the teacher took his position at the front of class to begin orientation.

"Kuki Sanban and Wally Beatles," Nigel whispered before facing forward. For a moment he thought the subject was dropped until a tiny sheet of paper was slid to his desk. He looked curiously to Hoagie but the boy was focused on the teacher.

Brow furrowed, Nigel picked the paper up and froze. In blue ink a single question was written, _Are they numbers 1 thru 5?_

Eyes on the teacher and heart pounding, Nigel dug a pencil from his pack and wrote, _Predominantly yes, _then discreetly passed the paper back to its owner. His chest felt ready to explode. He wasn't certain what he was thinking, what Hoagie was thinking. Was he insane? Were they both insane? Or was the boy just playing a trick on him? If so, the numbers were a good guess as he hadn't yet admitted that fact to himself.

The paper flittered back and Nigel quickly scanned it.

_I thought I was the only one._

Nigel turned the paper over and listened to the teacher for the rest of class. When the bell rang, he rushed to catch Hoagie, grabbing his arm and dragging him to an inlet in the hallway.

"The numbers, the images," Nigel demanded, "What do they mean?"

"Whoa, calm down, man," Hoagie snapped, then glancing around nervously and readjusting his tote bag, he dropped his voice low, "I just told you I'm in the same boat, didn't say I knew what that meant. Have you met Abigail Lincoln?"

The question seemed to come from nowhere and Nigel replied in baffle, "No. What does that have to do with…?"

"Kuki Sanban, Wallabee Beatles, Abigail Lincoln," Hoagie ticked off on his fingers, "And now you, Nigel Uno. It's always around them that I feel that way. Like I know them but I don't. Then I get flashes of images, numbers, the whole nine yards," he whistled low, "And the headaches! Oi vey. Of course, I don't spend a lot of time around them; the whole thing weirds me out. Not to mention none of us are exactly hanging out on the same rung of the social ladder if you get my gist. Kuki is a sweet girl, but one of those effortlessly popular students, you know? Then there's Wallabee…well, you met Wally. And Abby…" Hoagie got a faraway look in his eyes, and he glanced to the hall, shifting his weight, "I don't think Abby likes me much. You'll meet her eventually."

"How can you be so sure of that?" Nigel questioned skeptically while mulling over the things Hoagie was saying. The taller boy folded his arms over his chest and grinned.

"Because _everyone_ knows Abby and Abby knows everyone and _everything_. Trust me on this, don't be surprised when you meet her if she already knows who you are, where you're from, when you moved here, and even what your favorite color is and the length of your inseam."

"She sounds quite intelligent," Nigel commented.

"She is," Hoagie confirmed then in a reverent tone, "She's a lot of things."

"Maybe she knows more about this," Nigel suggested, "Have you brought it up with her?"

"Uh…no. This isn't exactly a conversational topic," Hoagie answered, then in a goofy mock tone, "Hey, so every time I see you, numbers float through my mind," he shook his head and scowled, "I told you, I thought I was the only one. I'm still not convinced this is such a huge deal. Maybe we both just share some sort of philia-like fascination for those five numbers and the images are a delusion brought on by the euphoria."

"Only around these people, though?" Nigel pressed, skeptical, he shook his head furiously, "Something more must be going on here. We should investigate this further."

"Why?" Hoagie demanded, "I've been perfectly happy ignoring this strange mental condition for the past three years. You come along and I'm suddenly supposed to leave my blissful ignorance and go looking for answers I probably don't want."

"But I haven't had this 'strange mental condition' for the past three years," Nigel pointed out, "This started when I moved back here to this town. Those dreams, these feelings, the numbers…"

"Dreams?" Hoagie interjected, "You didn't say anything about dreams."

"You don't have the dreams…" Nigel carefully questioned, veins turning to ice. Maybe he was wrong.

"Depends. I don't know what you dream about," Hoagie replied candidly then he flicked his eyes away and muttered, "I don't sleep much because of the things I dream about though."

"See, I have trouble sleeping for the same reason," Nigel cried out, gaining a few unwanted glances from passer-bys as Hoagie quickly shushed him.

"Okay, calm down," Hoagie hissed, "So if I, say, rule out the highly probable idea that one or both of us is locked up in a padded cell at a mental institution, and agree with you that maybe _something_, and I'm not saying it's a big important something, is going on, what would you suggest we do about it?"

"The obvious course of action would first be to confirm if we are the only ones affected," Nigel stated matter-of-factly. Hoagie rolled his eyes.

"I was afraid you would say that."

"We'll talk to them together…"

"Uh. No. I'll come with you to speak with Kuki…_maybe_ Abigail, but you're on your own with Wally," Hoagie cut in. Nigel crossed his arms.

"I don't understand the problem. Wally seems like a nice bloke."

"Yeah. Right. Tell that to the three seniors he turned the tables on freshman year when they tried to shove him in his locker."

"He put three seniors into their lockers when he was only a freshman?" Nigel repeated; sounding impressed. Hoagie flashed him a cynical smirk..

"No. He shoved three seniors into _his_ locker."

"Uh…well…as painful as that sounds," Nigel cleared his throat, "That doesn't really support your case. It seems to me his actions were justified considering their original intent was to injure his person."

"That's why he only got five months detention for it," Hoagie sniffed, he peeked out into the hallway, which was beginning to empty, saying over his shoulder, "Look, this has been interesting and all but it's lunchtime. I have a Reuben to eat and a rocket launcher to adjust. So maybe we could talk about this later…or never again? Yeah, wishful thinking, I know."

"A…rocket launcher?"

"Yes. Rocket launcher," Hoagie snapped, "I battle robots and build gadgets during lunch. I'm a nerd. The king, actually. If I had my crown readily available I'd wear it for you," he sighed, shaking his head angrily, "I told you that you'd change your mind about being pleased to meet me."

Nigel was stunned. Americans idolized odd attributes but were they really so foolish at this school that they would shun a person who built rocket launchers? Even without their odd new connection, for the British boy, Hoagie's declaration just bumped him up into the slot reserved for coolest student he'd met so far.

"I haven't changed…" Nigel started but when he looked up Hoagie was gone, "…my mind."

The Brit sighed. As predicted, he hadn't gained any answers from Hoagie but he'd amassed more questions. With them bouncing around his mind, he started for the cafeteria. Inside, the crowd was abuzz, students shouting and laughing. The lunch line was long but seemed to be moving quickly. Nigel went to stand in it as he scanned the room for a friendly face or a place to sit.

"Nigel!" a familiar voice squealed nearby and he startled, catching a glimpse of Kuki weaving through the crowd. She came to a halt in front of the speechless bald boy and grinned breathlessly, "Hey, how's your first day going?"

"Uh…like a bomb," Nigel answered, feeling his face grow warm, "Yours?"

"Oh, big boom, huh?" Kuki exclaimed gleefully then giggling, "Everything has been great so far! I've got good teachers. Hey, do you have a place to sit? You should come sit with us." She motioned over her shoulder to where her friends from that morning were sitting joined by another girl and two boys. She tilted her head to one side and amended, "That is…if you don't already have someone else to sit with. If you do though, you could bring them with you," she gasped, her eyes widening in an adorable manner, "It could be like a party!"

"Er…I'd be delighted to join you," Nigel told her. She lit like the sun.

"Good! Well, I'll see you over there then," she waved slightly and headed back to her friends. Nigel sighed, watching her leave then shaking his head. He could see what Hoagie had meant about her. It was clear why she would be so well liked by her peers; however, she was a breath of fresh air.

"You know Kuki Sanban?" a gruff voice with a familiar Aussie inflection piped beside Nigel, surprising the bald boy. At some point, Wally had snuck up behind Nigel and was now standing with hands shoved in his pockets, his shaggy locks masking his face.

"Oh, yes," Nigel stammered, clearing his throat he explained, "I quite literally ran into her this morning. You know her as well?"

Wally shifted, obscuring his expression all the more and making him a near impossible read. He muttered, "Not really. Her mom works with my dad so I've seen her around. We ain't exactly cobbers, though, don't really run with the same crowds, yanno?"

Nigel realized this was a good opening and, while picking up a food item to place on his tray, casually mentioned, "I met Hoagie Gilligan last class."

"Don't know him," Wally answered distantly, the sudden tension in his shoulders could be easily missed by anyone without Nigel's observant eye. It seemed Wally didn't want to talk about the self-proclaimed nerd king and Nigel didn't know the other boy well enough to press the matter. He took it as a good sign though that his theory that they all experienced the strange form of nostalgia around one another was correct.

From the tilt of his head, Nigel surmised the Aussie was still looking Kuki's direction and a curious thought popped into the British boy's head. He gave a low whistle and smirked, placing another food item on his plate and moving forward with the line.

"She's a bit of a dish, that one," Nigel said slyly.

"Eh? What?" Wally blinked. His entire body went visibly rigid. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, turned his head away, and stammered, "You think so? I hadn't really noticed."

Feeling somewhere between winning the lottery and finding he'd stepped in a pile of dog crap, Nigel went on, "How could you not? She's very pretty, cheerful, sweet, friendly…"

"If you like that sort of thing," Wally bit out, a bit harsher than necessary, "She's not really my type."

And there it was. Nigel shook his head, smiling to himself. He told the other boy, "She invited me to sit at her table. I suppose you wouldn't care to join, then?"

"Uh…" Wally nearly choked on his words in a comical manner, but he swiftly recovered, muttering, "No. I got other places to be. I'll see you later."

Wally didn't wait for a response, maneuvering through the crowd towards the cafeteria exit. There were vending machines outside from which he planned to buy his lunch. He paused at the doorway. Nigel was finishing paying for his lunch and started to the table where Kuki and her friends were sitting.

Shifting his focus, Wally watched the petite Asian from across the room, how her eyes widened, how her smile broadened, how her hands grabbed at Nigel's in greeting. Her hair flittered about her, twirling around her body in constant motion. Her slender form bounced with endless energy. She laughed, she danced, at one point she threw her slim arms around the Hispanic boy, Ace he was called, sitting at the table. The Aussie scowled before letting his hair fall into his eyes

_She's not my type._

Wally balled his hands into tight fists with resolve, kicking the cafeteria door open and exiting. From the vending machine he bought a bag of chips, a packet of Slim Jims, and bottle of Coke. The courtyard was barren of most student life save for small groups of outcasts, loners, the "Goths" and "punks" huddled sparsely about. Beneath one of the many trees, Wally plopped on the ground leaning back against the trunk and glaring at a few passing students who hurried by when they caught his attention. He ripped open the meat-like product and started eating.

Hoagie P. Gilligan Jr., okay, so yeah, Wally knew him. They'd been going to school together all these years, hadn't they? Of course, their parents worked together as well. In different departments but the same building, same company. They had to suffer through "Bring Your Son to Work Day" together a couple times playing lengthy games of Go Fish with the other sons. The most Wally could ever recall saying to the boy, however, were lines like, "Get out of my way" or "I smashed your banana".

In much the same way as Nigel, Hoagie put Wally on edge more so than usual. From the shadows crept shadows, from which, crept shadows. Oddly enough, the danger he sensed didn't seem to be from either boy. Wally took a sip from his soda and furrowed his brow. He tipped his head back to look up into the branches of his tree. There was something about the way the sunlight streamed through the leaves, much like an adrenaline rush, that calmed Wally's nerves. He even smiled somewhat.

For a moment, he forgot that his life sucked. That he was a veritable wreck, that his parents hated him, that all he ever did was hurt his little brother, that he had no real friends, that he was constantly at war with himself, that he was one anxiety attack away from the loony bin. As the sun warmed his face and the green of the foliage swayed gently in the breeze, he was happy. Just for that moment.

A realization struck Wally suddenly from nowhere. It was more than not feeling threatened by Nigel or Hoagie. They brought out something in his mind, something inside of him. An urge, a want, a desire. The danger was there, the demons were lurking, and he needed to fight them. He scrunched his face, sitting upright and resting his arm across a drawn up knee, chewing thoughtfully one his greasy snack food. He had to battle to protect Nigel and Hoagie.

An image of Kuki dancing flashed and Wally shook his head, taking a long draught of his soda and falling against the tree again.

"Stupid," he muttered.

A shadow fell over the lunching Aussie and Wally glanced up to find out who seemed to be in such a desperate need for a nosebleed. He groaned. If he could have gone this whole day without seeing the talking ape in a fedora hovering over him it would have been the greatest of blessings. Alas, for his piss poor luck.

"How's it going, Ernie?" Wally asked mock pleasant, entwining his fingers behind his head and leaning his face upward.

The older boy had grown a few more inches, lucky blighter; he'd also put on a few more pounds of muscle looked like. He had two friends with him, a boy with a blue Mohawk, and another with a black slicked back ponytail.

"How many times do I have to tell you, it's Ernest," the large boy growled, and then donning a neutral tone, "Heard you were back, Beatles."

"Old news," Wally cheekily replied. He darted his eyes between the lackeys shuffling uncomfortably.

"Yet you didn't come see your old pal, Ernest? I'm injured, Wally, I truly am," Ernie crooned on, placing his hands on his chest and making a face to demonstrate just how hurt he was. Wally rolled his eyes beneath his hair.

"Seriously, Ernie, you're interrupting my 'me' time with this boring chinwag so if you could possibly get to the point…"

"He's having a party," purple Mohawk eagerly blurted out, gaining an elbow to the gut from his leader. Wally popped a few chips in his mouth.

"And you're inviting me personally? How sweet," Wally teased then spat, "What the hell does it have to do with me?"

Ernest cleared his throat, put on his best car salesman face, and spread his hands out wide, "Remember when you and I ran that Zit Cream Smuggling Ring awhile back? We both made out big on that."

Wally folded his arms over his chest, arching a brow, "Yeah…so…"

"And what about out Test Paper Scam? That was a goldmine."

"Right up 'til we got sprung and you left me to take the heat," Wally muttered bitterly.

"Blame that nosy reporter," Ernie argued, "Tramp only fingered you and I _always_ had your back when you ran errands for my bookie business."

"Will you stop cruddy earbashing already and just tell me what the hell you want," Wally moaned.

"My point is, Beatles, we make a good team," Ernest hissed, fighting to bite back his anger, "Between my brain, your brawn, and both our connections we could be running this school. I say we let bygones be bygones and do it."

Wally put on a show of pondering the proposition then chirped, "Thanks, but no thanks."

Ernest grunted in frustration, to Wally's amusement, then composed himself quite stoically, lifting his hat to smooth his hair, "At least take more time to consider it. Help me set up this party and if that goes well..."

"How did I know that was coming?" Wally muttered peevishly, shaking his head.

"Look," Ernest pleaded, "My best connection just got busted on a bogus rap and is spending time in juvenile detention. The only other guy I can get party supplies from is Joe Balooka and I _know_ you've got an in with him. I've already cased an abandoned warehouse for the location."

"Are you berko? I just got back from six-months in the nick," Wally exclaimed, "And you already want me to help you stir up trouble? Nah-uh. No way. Not happening. Now get lost and let me finish my soda pop in peace."

Ernest sighed. "Fine. We're going." He pulled a small card from his pocket, held it out to the boy on the ground, "But at least take my number. In case you change you mind."

Wally snatched the card out of Ernest's twitching fingers. He glanced at it with disinterested; ten digits hastily scribbled in pen, and then casually shoved it in his pocket. Then he fixed a glare on the hovering boys, growling a low warning in the back of his throat, and the three turned, the two lackeys somewhat hastily, and walked away.

* * *

AN: Phew...another chapter down. Yay! And I'm not late for work today. Double Yay! Anyway, I feel I should explain that Nigel is kind of piecing this together faster than the others for a couple reasons. Like he said, he hadn't experienced the "sensation" of knowing people he didn't really know and obsessing over numbers and all that jazz for the past three years in the same way that the other four had. And also, because I think it fits his character best to believe there's something more to it than just an odd quirk. Let me know if you think differently.

On a final note, Wally makes a comment about spending "six months in the nick", 'in the nick' is Aussie slang for 'in jail'; but he just meant military school which I would think is similar to jail without the whole...community soap. Hehe, okie. I'm sure you're all dying to know what a devourer is and what that has to do with the plot. It's coming, eventually...soon...perhaps. Tired.

Anyhow...hooroo.


	6. Chapter 5

AN: Another chapter, short and sweet. I have to admit, I was so appalled and just embarrassed when I read back over last chapter and saw how many typos and grammatical errors I had left unfixed. Never again will I proofread a chapter so early in the morning. Maybe I should get a beta....nah. Anyhow, I hope this one has less blaring mistakes.

Okie, read read.

* * *

Chapter 5:

Numbuh 5,072 calmly nestled into his chair in the Moonbase with a Yipper comic in hand and an open bag of chips lying on his lap. He'd been fielding calls to Global Command all morning, doling out new assignments to the different sectors, and arguing with the Arctic Base drill sergeant, his friend Ulysses – Numbuh 63, about which flavor ice cream was the best. Butterscotch ripple, of course, though Numbuh 63 still claimed Rocky Road. Finally, he was on break.

Munching on the salty, greasy, crunchy slivers of goodness, Numbuh 5,072 nearly fell over choking on a chip when the alarm went off; red lights flashing and a siren wailing overhead. His computer monitor went black only to light up again with green letters and numbers rapidly filling the screen. He stared wide-eyed for a moment, baffled, as operatives rushed around him in panic.

Moment over, the ten-year-old communications operative snapped in to emergency mode. He tossed his comic and snack food to the side and straightened in his chair, fingers flying across buttons on his control board.

"Someone is hacking our system," Numbuh 2-Dollar-Bill called from her own control screen, as her nimble hands deftly worked to reinforce the KND firewalls.

"How are they getting past our defenses so fast?" Numbuh 5,072 shouted over his shoulder frantically attempting to put a blockade in front of the hacker. He glanced the Soopreme Leader, Numbuh 676 rushing through the doors, long black hair tied back with leather and an eagle feather. His dark eyes studied the screen, his jaw stiff and mouth a tight frown.

"What are you looking for?" the leader quietly asked their unknown assailant.

"It's like they know every trapdoor," Numbuh 2-Dollar-Bill was saying, desperate tears shimmering in her eyes, "I can't stop them…I can't…its as though they know every move I can possibly make."

"Shut it down," Numbuh 676 whispered and then in a firm command he yelled, "Shut it down. Turn off the Powuh! I want a full system shut down eleventy minutes ago!"

Numbuh 5,072 and several other operatives rushed to grab the Powuh plug and together yanked it from its outlet. The power whirred, faded, and then all at once every monitor went off with a snap. The siren died, the lights went out and the room washed in an orange glow as emergency lighting flickered on. All around flabbergasted operatives stood blinking to one another.

"What happened?" their leader demanded, glaring out at the room. His operatives were silent. "We have the Keeps Adult Nuisances Out Sooper Outstanding Ultimately Powerful defense grid. It's the bestest in the entire universe so somebody better explain to me how anyone was able to break through?"

"They knew their way around, sir," Numbuh 2-Dollar-Bill meekly spoke up, "The way they walked right through K.A.N.-O.-S.O.U.P…they'd have to know the grid almost as well as Numbuh 1 did, and he _designed _the thing!"

"It's possible a traitor is responsible for this," Numbuh 87-kajillion suggested, "Someone with inside knowledge of the grid who escaped decommissioning."

Numbuh 676 drew in his breath, his hands balled into angry fists, eyes narrow slits at the blank monitors. He released his breath and with steely calm delegated orders, "I want a list of all fugitives with any possible knowledge of K.A.N.-O.-S.O.U.P., start with the Teen Ninjas. All available Sectors, and any currently on missions deemed of lesser importance, will be assigned to investigate those fugitives and _to find that hacker_. Numbuh 2-Dollar-Bill, I'm putting you in charge of bringing systems back online; _slowly_. Close the gaps that hacker used to break through. And…trace their route. Whoever it was, they were looking for something. I want to know what. Everyone else, let's get Moonbase up and running, again. Adult tyranny doesn't fight itself. You all have your orders, get to it!"

Without need for further prodding, the operatives were propelled into action. Numbuh 5,072 looked to his comic and snack crushed on the floor with a sigh. So much for his break. He took his seat once more and demanded crankily, "Can I get communication back up, A.S.A._Now_?"

-5-4-3-2-1-

Abigail hummed lightly, earbuds blaring the Black Eyed Peas as she scanned over her staff roster. It was lunchtime and she was sitting in her office, munching on a salad, and working out a game plan for the Willem Rag's first issue. She was trying to figure out which reporters she would assign to which sections. With old issues of the Rag laid out across her desk, she did a comparison of writing styles.

Decisively, Abby had moved McGillicutty off Sports Review as his bitter lack of interest showed through in his snarky synopses of the games. He always wanted a more hard-hitting section in the paper, so Abby decided to give him a shot at investigative reporting along with Muffie Jenkins. The two worked well together. She would leave it to them to find their first story.

Eggbert Eggleston, Abby thought with a cruel smirk, would be perfect working Human Interest with Valerie. She recognized that Egg-boy wrote superlative fluff pieces, his exposé on a box of abandoned kittens found outside the school last winter nearly brought the tough-as-nails Abigail to tears. He had a lot of heart that she hoped would balance out her arch nemesis's cold aristocratic style. She also knew the odd boy had more than a passing crush on the puffy-haired narcissist which guaranteed to bring Abigail hours of amusement each news day.

In spindly cursive, Abby made note to run an advertisement in the first issue for new reporters. She needed to replace graduated writers as well as staffers that quit or didn't make the cut the year prior. Abigail sighed; replacing Chad Dickson was not going to be an easy task. The young man had excelled at everything he did, personally writing at least four articles an issue. It was his big editor shoes Abigail was currently trying to fill.

A flash of blonde outside the office door caught Abby's attention and she rolled her eyes, pausing her music and removing the earbuds.

"Valerie, I already told you to wait until I hand out assignments," Abby groaned, taking a sip of her diet cola.

There was no response but a sound like shuffling feet across the floor and metal against metal.

Body tensing and senses alert, Abigail called out again, "Valerie?"

Nothing. A muffled clink. Furrowed brow and heart pounding, Abby stood slowly up from her desk.

"Hello? Who's out there?"

More movement in the classroom. Muffled laughter from out in the hall. A soft hiss like an intake of air near the office door.

Abby silently moved from her desk, keeping her body loose and breathing steady, her hands held out before her in a ready position. She glanced around the doorframe into the room. It appeared void of life, nothing but empty desks, gray partitions, swivel chairs, and black computer screens. There was a door to the back of the class connecting to an empty room on the other side. A couple cabinets to the back of the room, a handful of yardsticks leaning against the doorframe with a few that had fallen to the ground, a vent blowing cool air as tiny streamers billowed in the mechanical breeze.

"Abby is losing her mind," the braided girl muttered to herself, relaxing. She bent to straighten the yardsticks, leaning them against the wall once more.

The hair on Abigail's body stood on end as the distinct ruffling of cloth, heavy footsteps and the scraping of something hard against plaster resounded in her ear from the far side of the room. In one rapid and smooth motion, she skillfully shifted her body into a fighting stance, twirling a yardstick into her hand and gripping it like a tai chi straight sword. The window blinds flittered in the breezeless room.

"Alright, whoever you are, show yourself now because if I have to come back there and find you, it is going to hurt, baby," Abigail shouted across the room, doing an excellent job at sounding fierce despite her wavering courage.

The tick of the clock drummed loudly in the silence. The window blinds stilled. Mustering confidence, Abby tightened her grip on the yardstick, and slowly began across the room. Half way, there came a click behind her and the scuffle of feet. She spun, gracefully swinging the yardstick towards her possible assailant, only to halt the movement when she caught a flash of wide startled blue.

The sharp wood was pressed against the neck of a pudgy boy dressed in overalls and holding his hands defensively in front of himself. He had dropped a toolbox to the ground and it now lay partially open at his feet. Abigail flustered, lowering the yardstick behind her back and straightening.

"I am so sorry," she stammered, "I really didn't mean to…oh shoot…really, I'm sorry. You startled me and there was someone…I…I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"Wow," the boy finally breathed, blinking owlishly, "That was…so…_cool_!"

Abby blushed, smoothing the baby hairs from her forehead as she murmured, "It was nothing really…"

A first for Willem High's know-it-all, Abigail didn't recognize the boy before her but she noted his beautiful blue eyes twinkling good-naturedly and the cute dimples cutting deep into his cheeks. Her face grew warm and her heart pounded again. Cute guy, she decided, and then cursed herself. Of course, only she could make a _great_ first impression on a new cute guy by doing something stupid like nearly taking his head off with a yardstick.

"Someone was…_what_?" the boy inquired, startling Abby away from her mental tirade.

"Oh…um…" she started, pointing dumbly at her office, "I was working and I heard noises," she shook her head, sighing, "I think some jerk was just messing with me. I have a good idea who it was too and she is so going to pay later."

Abby waved the yardstick around for emphasis and the boy eyed it nervously, saying, "You, maybe, wanna put that down?"

Again, Abigail blushed, lowering her makeshift weapon and leaning it against a desk. She chuckled somewhat, "Oh. Yeah. Sorry again."

"It's all good," the blue-eyed stranger assured her, then grinning, he asked, "So, samurai, what were you working on?"

"Newspaper stuff, organizing and preparing, boring things like that," Abby answered in an offhanded manner then gestured to the toolbox on the floor with a quirked brow, "Better question, mystery boy, is what are _you_ working on?"

"Whistler," the boy said and Abby drew her brow together.

"Whistler?" she repeated stupidly.

"That's my name, Whistler Fünfundzwanzig," he explained.

"Oh I get it," Abigail laughed with realization, "You're the new transfer student. Sophomore, right? Moved here from Paris, Maine?"

Whistler folded his arms over his chest and gave Abby a look of confused respect, "How do you know all of that?"

"I've got my sources," Abigail replied vaguely, then giggling, "Fun-fuh-un-duh-zwan-zig…now that is one heck of a last name."

"Tell me about it. You don't have to say it every time you introduce yourself," Whistler chuckled, lifting a hand to muss his dreadlocks, "Speaking of which, you…uh…got a name? Or should I just keep calling you 'samurai'?"

"It's Abigail Lincoln," she told him, then smiling slyly, "But you can keep calling me 'samurai'. You never answered my question about what you were up to with that big box of tools?"

Whistler startled, as though just remembering something, and snapping his fingers, exclaimed, "Do you know where the media room is?" He shook his head, "I mean, I'm supposed to be fixing cameras for the Media club and I have no clue where their room is."

"Handy man, huh? First day and those fools are already putting you to work?" Abigail asked haughtily, hands on hip. Whistler shrugged, grinning sheepishly.

"Actually, I volunteered. Trying to be helpful…make friends. You know?"

"Oh, I see. Well then I guess you'd better get to the Media room before you lose your 'in' with the anchormen," Abigail teased, "Lucky for you, I am the right girl to point you in the right direction."

"Um…would you mind taking me there, instead?" Whistler interrupted, a pleading look in his soft azure eyes, "I know you're probably really busy with your 'boring newspaper stuff' but I'm terrible at following directions and I really have to fix these cameras by the end of lunchtime."

Abigail was momentarily stunned by her sudden change of fortune, from psycho-attacker to kindly tour guide in ten seconds flat. She smiled and said, "Well…I suppose it couldn't hurt none."

Abigail fetched her bag from the office and Whistler relieved her of it, sliding it over his shoulder. Then, he plucked his toolbox from the ground and held the door open as they both left the room, walking down the hallway side-by-side.

"So, are you half-German?" Abigail asked after a couple seconds silence. Whistler glanced to her with a crooked smile.

"No. My dad is…was…half-German and half-Polish," he explained. Abby didn't miss the solemn in his tone when he spoke the word 'was'. She forced a smile and attempted to move the subject along.

"Oh. That's cool. My mom is French. Well, her mother, my mére, is French. My grandfather met her while he was in the Airforce stationed in France. They fell in love, got married, settled down in the French countryside and had my mom," Abby rambled off nervously, she winced, "I don't know why I just told you all of that."

"I don't mind," Whistler told her, "How did your mom and dad meet?"

Pleasantly surprised by his interest, Abby smiled and continued, "Well, after my daddy graduated from medical school and finished his residency he enlisted with the Doctors Without Borders program. My mother was already a volunteer. She had served in the Armée de l'Air – the French Air Force - and had training as a nurse. "

"So they met and fell in love?" the boy prodded.

"No. They hated each other," Abby laughed, "She fell in love with my dad's best friend. Followed him back to the U.S. and almost married him."

"Really?" Whistler gasped, eyes bulging out, "What happened?"

"Month before the wedding, the guy runs off with the married receptionist at Memorial Hospital, where he and my dad worked…well, where my dad still works."

"No way."

"Yup. My mom was devastated. Not to mention, she had nowhere to go. The apartment she was staying at belonged to that sleaze ball, she didn't have a job, hadn't made any friends yet, she was still trying to get her green card, didn't have money to fly back to France, didn't _want_ to go back to France. Ashamed at what his now ex-best friend had done, my daddy stepped in and offered her a place to stay until she figured out what to do."

"Knight in shining armor," Whistler smirked.

"We're here," Abby replied, opening a door and motioning the suddenly confused boy inside.

"What?"

"The media room," Abby reminded him, "You have to fix cameras."

"Oh, yeah," Whistler smacked his forehead, then begged, "You have to finish the story, at least. Maybe keep me company?"

Needless to say, Abby was surprised, though pleased. She suspected he was less interested in her story than her and couldn't help thanking her luck. She did have work to do in the journalism room but Whistler had those big blue eyes and those sweet dimples. Mumbling agreement, Abby followed the eager boy into the room. He briefly talked with Nick, who curiously questioned about the whereabouts of Hoagie then muttered that he didn't care so long as the cameras got fixed and motioned to a group of equipment set to the side. Whistler got to work immediately and Abby took a seat atop a table nearby watching with interest as he examined the first camera.

"You were saying…about your parents?" Whistler urged over his shoulder. Abby startled, blushing when she realized she'd been staring as he worked. He paused to glance at her and asked, "What did your mom do when your dad offered her a place?"

"Oh. Yeah. Uh…she turned him down," Abby answered.

"What?" Whistler nearly dropped the camera and Abby covered a smile as he scrambled to catch it, "She really turned him down?"

"Can you blame her? They had hated each other all that time and his best friend just left her jilted," Abby reasoned, she chuckled, "But can you believe, my daddy was so offended he kept asking? Even after my mom had gotten a job and was living at a motel, he'd go pester her at work every day. It became a routine, they'd go out to lunch, he'd demand she take his offer, she'd refuse," Abby sighed, leaned back and smiled fondly, "Then one day, he came, they went out to lunch, and when it was time for him to ask the question…well…he'd changed the offer."

Whistler had paused in his tinkering, sitting on the ground with a camera resting on his leg, staring up at Abigail.

"They'd fallen in love," he murmured in awe, giving a low whistle.

"Yeah, he asked her to marry him," she confirmed. Whistler eyed her suspiciously.

"Don't tell me she rejected him."

Abby broke into a hearty laugh, "Nah, baby, but she did make one condition. She wasn't going to move in with him."

Whistler gave her a puzzled look.

"She'd finally gotten herself into a position to buy her own place. _He_ had to move in with _her_," Abigail finished up, drawing laughter from the delighted boy. When the mirth died down, Abigail folded her legs atop the table and questioned, "You listened to my story, so what about you, boy? How did you end up with those baby blues?"

Whistler shifted uncomfortably, returning his focus back to the camera on his knee. Abby wondered if she'd gone too far with the suggestion.

"There's not really much to say," he mumbled distantly, as deft fingers expertly opened the device he held.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to press," Abby cut in, and then hesitantly, "Your dad…he's…?"

"Dead," Whistler stated affirmation; though his voice was calm she could see how just saying the word bothered him. He seemed to be concentrated on his work, taking a deep, shaky breath, he continued, "I was five, when it happened."

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," Abby interrupted softly, "It was weird of me to ask…I mean, we just met."

Whistler sat quiet a very long time, gazing intently at exposed wires before him. Finally he spoke, "My parents loved each other more than any two people possibly could. All I remember of them together was that they were perfect. Even when it felt like everything was wrong and the world was falling apart; he would make a joke and she would laugh or they would kiss or just sit and hold one another's hands, and I could truly believe that, no matter what, things would turn out fine."

"It sounds beautiful," Abby commented.

"It was," Whistler said somberly, "And then he died. We were in an accident, help didn't come fast enough, he was in her arms when he..."

Stunned by the tragedy of it all, Abigail found herself studying her hands at a loss. Whistler stood and placed the camera back on its tripod.

"She – my mom – she was never the same after it happened," he added, fiddling with the camera controls.

"I don't see how she could have been."

They were both silent for a few minutes, digesting the story. Then Abigail glanced to the younger boy, working on the next camera and wearing a hardened expression.

"Aren't you eating lunch?" she questioned, wondering if that weren't the oddest thing to say after such a tragic tale. She couldn't help it, though. She liked taking care of people. Not to mention there was something about this boy, maybe because he was younger, and especially after hearing his story, that brought out the maternal side in her that she tried so hard to hide.

Whistler looked at Abby with a scrunched expression, before smiling slightly, and holding up a finger. He dug into his pocket and produced a large bag of Rainbow Monkey Chocolate Covered Gummies, opening it up and shoving some into his mouth. He held the bag out to Abby in offering.

"_Boy_, you are going to get me into trouble," she chastised with a laugh, gleefully taking a couple pieces and popping them in her mouth, "I have the _biggest_ sweet tooth!"

"I know," he replied without thought.

Abby quirked a brow at that, "You do?"

Whistler froze, looking as though he'd swallowed a frog, before carefully explaining, "I just meant, you seem like someone who has quite the sweet tooth…because…you're so sweet."

Abby folded her arms across her chest, eying the boy suspiciously. He shifted his weight from foot to foot and glanced at the clock.

"Uh…you know, it really has been great of you to hang out and I enjoyed the story but looking at the time I think I should start concentrating on these cameras," he hastily told her, "And I know you have a lot to do in the newsroom so…maybe you ought to get going?"

Not entirely convinced, Abby mouthed an 'okay'. She picked her bag up from where it had been discarded by the table and headed for the door, glancing over her shoulder once more to the boy focused on video equipment, before exiting.

Interesting guy, she thought to herself, very interesting.

-1-2-3-4-5-

Mushi Sanban decided she hated the sixth grade. More so even than the year before when she had hated the fifth grade. Because now, instead of sitting through one long tortuous class, she had to sit through six long tortuous classes. Then, as if that wasn't bad enough, she had to drag a backpack that was filled with binders, notebooks, pens and paper and, soon, six heavy text books, through the long and winding hallways to each of these classes. Finally, topping it all off like the cherry on a sundae, there was no recess.

Honestly, Mushi had hated recess. Not because of the sun or the playing, the break from school, or the sand and toys. No. She had hated recess because she had to share it with everyone else in her class. Turns had to be taken on the swings and slides, balls couldn't be kept to oneself they had to be utilized in team sports. It was hard enough keeping up the charade of being sweet and innocent to maintain her "Cutest Girl in Class" image without having to actually play nice with others. But now she didn't even have recess.

Worst of all, the Fontenot Junior High campus had a battle line drawn down its middle. On one side were the eleven and twelve year olds, on the other, teenagers. Even though the school was considered neutral ground, the tension was still there, as enemies sat side-by-side through lessons together. Kids Next Door operatives and Teen Ninja recruits waited with one hand on their holstered weapons awaiting someone, anyone, on the other side to cross that line. It had happened once before, the Great Food Fights of '89, a battle so brutal that no clear winner was named. Casualties had been numerous on both sides of the field, not counting the innocent bystanders that had fallen victim to the fight.

Mushi was not a Kids Next Door operative, though an attempt had once been made at her recruiting to which she had flat out refused. Her older sister, Kuki, had been an operative and if there was one thing Mushi could not, would not do, was follow in the footsteps of that dingbat. Of course, she didn't care about the rights of kids everywhere either and she'd be damned if she would waste her precious playtime defending them. After all, she had more important things to do. Like play dress up and host tea parties.

"How is your boyfriend, Moosh?" dark-haired Jessica asked from across their lunch table.

Sitting amongst a group of girls, Mushi was the center of attention. Just the way she liked it. She smiled, as she was busy answering a text message from that spoken of 'devil'. Her boyfriend was a real king and he spoiled the youngest Sanban. He was a freshman in high school that year, to her dismay, as that meant they were separated once again. She wanted him to be with her, hanging on her arm to show off to everyone in school, as he lavished her with compliments and gifts. Instead she had to settle for putting on a great display of sending out lovey-dovey texts, passing her phone around for the girls to see his just as lovey-dovey responses, sighing heavily and complaining about how much she 'missed her boyfriend'.

Truthfully, Mushi didn't really miss him, but she gave an exaggerated sniff and let a little water gather in the corners of her large ebony eyes.

"It's so hard being apart," she whimpered dramatically, "It…it's the anniversary of…our first hug today!"

The girls gave out great gasps of sympathy, rushing to extend Mushi their condolences.

"Only someone as cute and sweet as Mushi Sanban could get a great boyfriend like Sandy," one of the girls was saying with an adoring sigh.

From the corner of an eye, Mushi noticed how a couple of the girls in her group were glancing at their wrists. They looked to one another then slipped from her crowd of friends. A frown pulled at the corners of Mushi's mouth. She glanced about the lunchroom and saw other students following those girls from out of the cafeteria. Suspicious, she'd never seen so many Kids Next Door operatives being called to action at once like that. They exited subtly enough as not to draw attention from the Teen Ninjas and they all looked very perturbed.

Something big was up and Mushi didn't like it. She knew there was always a chance whatever current issues the KND faced could spill over to former members. There was no protection for old operatives. After decommissioning the Kids Next Door no longer interfered with their lives. However, unable to recall their training and missions, those old operatives were now defenseless and alone.

Mushi didn't like her older sister but she loved her. She hated how the Kids Next Door had left Kuki vulnerable on her thirteenth birthday like that. Being a good operative meant Kuki had made a lot of enemies who would love to take advantage of the fact she no longer remembered anything. A couple summers ago for instance, on a family vacation to Japan, two interesting twins had seemed very set on vengeance for some unknown past offense. Mushi did her best to protect her sister, but she was only one small girl without the aid of 2x4 Technology. Luckily, those twins had been bumbling fools but she always worried about 'next time'.

Decommissioning had changed the elder Sanban sister as well. Mushi could see how Kuki felt alone and scared, abandoned and as though something were missing from her life. She put up a good front at school and for their parents, but Mushi could see right through the act. Without the relationships she'd had with her former sector members her life was listless and empty. She would sit in her room for long periods of time staring out the window.

It was all because of the Kids Next Door. They had hurt Mushi's sister once but it would be over her dead body if they tried to do it again.

-5-4-3-2-1-

The tin box closed with a click, extinguishing the only light in the room. The dark figure who'd moments ago been clacking away at the buttons inside the box, barely startled when another figure, who seemed to be in conversation on a phone, joined him.

"No more excuses, Agent Double," the newcomer was saying in a low rasp, "You need to secure the item."

"They don't trust me yet," a tiny whine answered from the phone, "I don't even know where it is. No one has so much as mentioned it."

"D-Less Day is in less than two weeks. If the item isn't secured by then, you know what happens."

"I know. I'll…I'll do my best."

"Your best, Double? No. You'll do your job." Click. The phone slipped into a pocket. "Did you get what we needed?"

"They shut me out faster than I thought. I didn't expect a full power down."

"You underestimated them. That's not like you. Did you get _anything_ at least?"

Silence.

"Well?"

"I got two. But…" Pause. "He's not going to like it."

* * *

AN: And the story is progressing right along. Lots of Abby in this chappie, to make up for her slow intro. I got to be honest, I have no idea where that whole story about her parents getting together came from. I just started writing and it spilled from my head just as it popped in. I knew she was going to meet Whistler this chapter I just had no clue what they were going to converse about and then that whole story suddenly appeared on the screen. Oh and Mushi! The friend I mentioned, Jessica, is the little girl from Operation: RABBIT. Um...KAN-O-SOUP came out of nowhere too, so much so that I had to double check that it wasn't a real thing in the cartoon because I suck at anagrams. It isn't, and their anagrams are all way better than mine.

**EDIT 4-6-2010 : I looked back over my notes and noticed, embarrassingly, that I had written the wrong age of Whistler for when his dad died. He wasn't seven...he was five. It's not really important for anything other than character development but...yeah...changed it! ***

Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed it all at least. :)


	7. Chapter 6

AN: Originally I had planned to post this chapter last night...but just as I had finished the chapter I realized half the chapter was too far ahead in the story and that I would have to backtrack severely to fit in other events. Good thing, too, because this chapter was five pages longer at first too. Phew. Anyway, most of next chapter is written now which I hope will be great, as I hope this one will be. So, read on!

* * *

Chapter 6:

Lunch did not go expectedly for Hoagie. His plan had been to eat the Rueben he'd made out of his grandmother's leftover sauerkraut the night before while calculating the expected trajectory of rockets he'd be shooting from his launcher later that day based on estimated velocity and wind speed. Unfortunately, just as he entered the AV room, he realized, in his rush to get to school that morning, he'd forgotten the sandwich at home. Digging some cash out of his wallet, with a heavy heart, he left for the vending machines. His disappointed taste buds would just have to be satisfied with Cheetos and a Sierra Mist.

That's when his plans detoured. Rounding a corner on his way to the machines, Hoagie caught sight of Abigail leaving the Journalism room. His heart nearly stopped. She was with Whistler. Not entirely sure why, he ducked out of sight, spying on the two as they started down the hall. Shamefully, he decided he would wait a couple seconds then follow them. After all, he reasoned with himself, didn't Nigel want to investigate the people that stirred odd memories in the both of them? Wasn't Abigail Lincoln one of those people?

So Hoagie counted to five and just as he began to follow, he nearly tripped in stopping himself to scurry back out of sight. Anything but inconspicuous, a redheaded boy that Hoagie didn't recognize had appeared outside of the Journalism room. Intent and alert blue eyes shot glances about the hallway, a heavy looking bag was draped over his shoulder. After a moment to insure himself that the halls were empty, the boy swiftly opened the door and slipped inside.

Faced with a dilemma, Hoagie quickly weighed his options. He could follow Abby and Whistler or he could see what business that strange boy had in the Journalism room. Losing time, he decided, the boy was not his concern and rushed down the hall in the direction the rapidly disappearing teenagers had headed. Sadly, he'd waited too long as the couple was nowhere to be found. Luckily, a thought struck him. Whistler was supposed to be in the Media room fixing cameras. It was a long shot but maybe they were there.

Hustling down the hall, Hoagie made a mad dash for the Media room and nearly revealed himself by almost running into the two teens. He hid behind a wall and watched as they slowly walked side-by-side. Damn, he thought, they sure are taking their time. Trying to catch his breath, he eavesdropped on their conversation. For the investigation, he reminded himself.

"…hated each other," Abby was saying. She appeared to be telling a story.

Hoagie peered around the bend to study the braided girl as she spoke. He frowned. She had her hands clasped in front of her, swaying back and forth as she walked. She seemed a bit…flustered. Her behavior, her actions, the way she move; it wasn't like her and Hoagie didn't approve. Whistler looked fascinated, every now and then glancing to his attractive companion, with wide and eager eyes. He would nod his head as she spoke, part his mouth in awe, and smile at certain parts of her story.

They moseyed down the hall like that, Hoagie hot on their trail, attempting to stay close enough to hear them talking, far enough back not to be noticed. She was discussing her parents, Hoagie realized, telling of how they'd first met, it would seem. It was a surprise. Abby was not and never had been an open book. She made it her business to know everything about everyone but kept herself a mystery. She was smart, sassy, and loved music and that was all the information anyone at school was privy to outside of those rare few she deemed 'friends' such as Henrietta von Marzipan.

There was no way Whistler had known Abby for any length of time. They had to have just met that day. Was it possible he'd wormed his way into the elite status of 'friend' so quickly?

"Knight in shining armor," Whistler murmured. The two had reached the Media room.

Hoagie watched in near disgust as the pudgy sophomore somehow managed to sweet-talk the unflappable Abby into staying with him in the Media room whilst he worked on fixing video equipment. The two disappeared into the room and Hoagie sank to the tiled floor of the hallway, too dizzy to stand after what he'd just bore witness.

It wasn't possible. There was no way. Hoagie sat with knees drawn up and elbows propped upon them gripping his head in attempt to stop its spinning. Abby held everyone – e_veryone_ – at arms length. How was it that Whistler could breach her inner sanctum so swiftly? It was not possible. She was too smart for tricks, she would see right through an act or a con. And as far as Hoagie could tell there was nothing special about Whistler. The boy was short, soft around the middle, clearly not half as brilliant as the crowned king of nerds. Sure he had those blue eyes and cool dreadlocks, but he was a sophomore, for crying out loud.

There Hoagie sat, mind reeling, trying to wrap around the idea of Abby giving in so easily to the, in Hoagie's opinion, not-so-charming Whistler. It just did not make sense. A bright hope glistened in his thoughts; perhaps she was taking pity on the boy. He was young, a new transfer, with no friends or acquaintances to speak of. Abigail wasn't cold or heartless, she was known for performing an act of kindness every now and then. Maybe this was just one of them.

Of course, that didn't explain the revealing story.

Time ticked on and several moments later the door to the Media room creaked open. Hoagie glanced his watch – ten minutes to bell – then looked down the hall. Abby was leaving, wearing a strange and puzzled expression on her face. She kept shooting contemplative looks at the door as it closed behind her. Then she headed down the hall, most likely for the Journalism room once more. Her secret observer furrowed his brow.

Hoagie didn't follow her, grumpily wondering what could have happened behind that closed door. He sat on that tiled floor mulling it over for the rest of lunch.

The last few classes didn't improve Hoagie's day. He was stuck in math with Lunk and Wilbur shooting spitballs at his head, gym that year promised to pit him against Wally Beatles and, the hulking brute, Yancy Kenneth, then his last period, Physics, was shared with Nigel Uno who once more cornered him after dismissal.

"Beatles knows you," the Brit eagerly told the unimpressed American.

"Of course he knows me."

"He lied about it, though."

"Of course he lied about it."

Nigel groaned, exasperated, "It means he didn't want me to know he knew you!"

"Nigel," Hoagie started patiently, "Wally and I have been going to school together since the second grade. Our parents work at the same company. Last year, at the annual 'Bring Your Son to Work Day', he told me my tie made me look campy…whatever that means. I'll admit, the guy's about as bright as a burnt out lightbulb but he isn't _that_ dim. Of course, he _knows_ who I am."

"That's not the point," Nigel argued, "He _lied_ about it. He told me he _didn't _know you, which is all the more suspicious, given the mounting evidence that he should know you."

Hoagie sighed, "Pay attention, Holmes, 'cause I'm only going to explain this to you once. Wally has a reputation for being a badass, tough-as-nails, don't-mess-with-him-or-he'll-pound-you-into-dust, jerk. He _likes_ that reputation. Me? I have a reputation for being a wussy, pathetic, quick-someone-give-him-a-wedgie-before-he-gets-away, nerd. Not exactly something I'm proud of but I've got better things to do than waste my time arguing with the masses. For example, running away before I'm given a wedgie. He's not exactly going to jump at the chance to claim he knows me, it's a reputation ruin-er. I mean, what is he going to say?" Hoagie suddenly donned a horrifically exaggerated Paul Hogan-esque Australian accent, "Oh yeah, Hoagie, he kicks my ass at Go Fish and his ties are sure camp-like."

"I think I understand," Nigel muttered, "But that still doesn't explain his obvious discomfort at discussing the matter further. Then there was his reaction towards Kuki."

"Oi vey," Hoagie rolled his eyes.

"He's clearly attracted to the girl but he refused to sit with us when I extended an invite… he admitted to knowing her at least."

"Wait a minute, Wally Beatles likes Kuki Sanban? No wait. You sat with Kuki Sanban at lunch today? No wait. Wally likes Kuki!? Oh my god, I can't decide which is more mind blowing!"

"Yes, I sat with her at lunch today. She invited me," Nigel moaned, against exasperated, and then reasoned, "I don't understand why it's so strange for him to like her. She's has very enticing qualities. She's easy on the eyes, kind, cheerful."

Hoagie stared long and hard at the British boy before asking charily, "Do _you_ like Kuki Sanban?"

Nigel was silent.

"Holy hell, Nigel, the fun never stops when you're around," Hoagie exclaimed gleefully, "You and Wally both like Kuki Sanban! Please tell me you're going to fight over her! Can I watch?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Gilligan, I hardly know the girl," Nigel snapped, obviously flustered, "As a person I find her very charming. However, romantically speaking, she may be all too energetic and absentminded for my tastes. Besides," he muttered peevishly, "I believe she has something going with that Spanish fellow, Carlos."

"Oh. Ace," Hoagie shrugged disinterestedly, "Yeah. Everyone knows about that. The guy has had it bad for Sanban for about as long as I can remember. Word is, she shuts him down every time. Everyone's waiting for them to get together. Me, I'm waiting for him to get a clue."

"You don't sound as though you like the guy much," Nigel silently observed.

"Nah, don't get me wrong. Ace is nice enough," Hoagie rebuked, "He's never _not_ been friendly with me. He's just…I don't know…all suave and debonair, ladies swooning in his wake. He can get any girl he wants and he chooses Willem High's sweetheart. He's pursued her unsuccessfully for three years, which I would find hilarious, if it weren't for the fact that his respect for her is 'so high' that he considers her too dense to know what his motives have been all this time. Not to mention what it says about his ego. There's a fine line between being confident in yourself and needing to let some of the air out of your bighead."

Nigel smirked, but made no comment, shifting gears instead as he mentioned, "I have yet to encounter your famous Abigail Lincoln, by the way."

Hoagie felt his face warm at the sudden reminder of how he'd spent his lunch. He cleared his throat, "Uh…like I said. You will. Hey, look, I got to get going. After school plans, you know? Even nerds have social lives. We'll talk tomorrow, okay?"

"Wait. Give me your phone number," Nigel demanded, producing a pen and pad of paper, holding it out to his stunned companion.

"What for?"

"In case something happens, new information is brought to light or a memory surfaces," Nigel explained, pressing the utensils forward. Hoagie took a deep breath, letting it out in a whoosh.

He took the pad and pen, jotting his number down while grumbling, "Man, Nige, you don't let up do you?"

Hoagie handed the pad back receiving a folded sheet of paper in return. He gave the Brit a questioning look as he accepted it.

"My number," Nigel answered the unspoken inquiry, "We'll be in touch." With gallant strides, the bald boy faded into the crowd.

Hoagie scowled, readjusting his tote and exiting the building. He was relieved to find that Tommy, Sonya, and Lee were already waiting for him at the truck, sitting on the folded down tailgate. They were joined by another boy that Hoagie didn't recognize, tall and lean with a bright grin. The kids shouted greeting when he arrived, and he grunted response, opening the truck and tossing his stuff inside.

"You must be Tommy's older brother," the unknown boy announced, stepping up to a startled Hoagie, "I'm Leo Fun-Fun."

"Fun-Fun?" Hoagie repeated dumbly.

"Its short for his crazy last name," Sonya chirped, already hopping into the truck, the boys clambering up behind her.

"You don't mind if he comes with us, do you?" Tommy asked.

"I overheard them talking about this rocket launch test and thought to myself, that sounds like a blast," Leo chuckled at his own pun. Hoagie quirked a brow.

"Uh…it's fine by me. So long as your parents don't mind…?"

"Mom is cool," Leo vaguely answered with a shrug.

"Okay, then. I could always use the extra pair of hands for lugging the launcher around," Hoagie answered then motioning to the truck, "Squeeze in."

Everyone loaded in, Hoagie pulled out of the parking lot. He tuned the radio to a Country station and asked, "How was the first day, you guys?"

"Awesome," Sonya exclaimed.

"Fine," Lee mumbled.

"Horrible," Tommy moaned. Hoagie glanced to his brother.

"Why is that?" he questioned. Sonya sighed, laying her head sympathetically on Tommy's shoulder, wrapping a hand around his arm. Lee gave her an odd look. Leo peered somewhat interestedly.

"I couldn't find my stupid classes, some jerk kid got me in trouble with one of my teachers, and a bunch of bullies stole my lunch money!" Tommy cried explanation. Hoagie, not having eaten any lunch himself, could definitely sympathize.

"That sounds awful, Tommy," he told the grieving boy, "Tomorrow will go better, though, I promise."

"I know," Tommy shouted eagerly, "Because I know my big brother is going to teach those bullies not to mess with me!"

"Yup, that's exactly…_what_?" Hoagie nearly choked on the word, almost slamming them into a halt in the middle of traffic. He managed to compose himself, urging the truck forward.

"I warned that jerk, Ernest, too! But he wouldn't listen," Tommy continued, "I can't wait to see his face, though, when you make him cough up my lunch money _with_ _interest_, Hoagie!"

Hoagie was fairly certain he was having a stroke or a heart attack or something. He tried to focus on the road, on driving, on the four little lives that depended on him not passing out behind the wheel.

"Eh…er…Ern…Ernest? The bully was Ernest?" Hoagie stammered, "Uh…maybe you should talk to a teacher, instead, Tommy. I mean…after all…two wrongs don't make a right." Second wrong being Ernest beating his tender milk-white hide to a ghastly black and blue.

"A _teacher_, Hoagie?" Tommy groaned, "I can't go to a teacher."

"No good," Lee elucidated, "No witnesses. Tommy's word against the bully's."

Hoagie chewed his inner cheek. He was fairly certain this would go down in history as the worst day of his life if not for the fact tomorrow was promising to be much worse. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel until his knuckles were pure white. Sonya looked uncomfortable; Leo had his attention out the window.

"Well, Tommy," Hoagie whispered slowly, regretfully, "I don't know what to tell you. Maybe tomorrow…you should just…avoid Ernest."

Tommy looked flabbergasted. He felt like a child who'd just been told for the first time Santa Claus didn't exist. He had believed, truly believed, that Hoagie; his perfect, wonderful, cool, most awesome big brother in the world, would make everything right. And he had been wrong.

"Whatever…" Tommy muttered, falling back into his seat and leaning against Sonya.

Needless to say, Hoagie wasn't looking much better. He had let his little brother down. Never in his life had he felt more like a failure.

-1-2-3-4-5-

When the final bell rang ending the first day of classes, the energy that had amassed throughout the day burst into the school hallways. Students, still bubbling with summer and not yet re-acclimated to sitting indoors for long periods of time, rushed to escape the building. Kuki made her way down the hall at a leisurely pace as her fellows bustled around her.

Kuki liked walking through the crowd like that, as though a fish in the sea. Most of the time she felt so disconnected from everyone, so obscure, but as she moved through that hall she felt as one with her fellow students, a part of the flow. She found her locker with ease and, eager to unload the texts a few teachers had assigned that day, attempted the combination.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the lovely Kuki Sanban," a voice still cracking into manhood piped. Said Japanese girl rolled her eyes.

"Hi Sandy," she greeted through grit teeth, "Are you picking up my little sister today?"

A pint-sized freshman and wannabe surfer, Sanford "Sandy" Abalone Castle, was a quixotic annoyance. He was also dating Kuki's little sister and had been for two years. Before that the two youngsters would pretend they were engaged and fantasize about being in tragically romantic Romeo-and-Juliet-esque scenarios. Now, in Kuki's opinion, they were just tragic.

At one point, Sandy's eye had been on Kuki and while most of the time he seemed unswervingly devoted to Mushi; every now and then it would stray back there. Either way, Kuki thought they were a little young to be spouting about eternal love, especially considering, she felt her sister could do _way_ better.

"I might be. Though, I could take _you_ home," Sandy offered slyly. He was leaning one arm resting against the lockers by his head, the other bent out with the hand placed on his hip, a brow cocked suggestively. It seemed his eye was straying today.

"Uh…I carpool," Kuki told him dismissively then opened her locker door into his face. He flinched, recovered, and stepped around to the other side of her.

"I just figured that since we're now both high school students we should hang out more," he continued, in his slick tone, "After all, we are…friends." He gave her a winning smile, "I rode my bike today. You could sit upon the handlebars and I could pedal you home. How does that sound?"

Kuki made a face in her locker, neatly lining up her textbooks and slipping a few binders and a pencil holder in as well.

"That's very kind of you, Sandy," she lied, forcing pleasantness into her words as, after all, she didn't want to be outright mean despite the fact he was currently forsaking her sister, "But like I said, I already have a ride. So thank you, but, no. Besides, you should really reserve those handlebars for Mushi. You know she loves getting driven around on your bike!"

"But…"

Sandy's protest was cut off by a husky Hispanic intonation, "This guy bothering you?"

Ace stepped up behind the diminutive freshman, arms crossed and looking down, mock intimidating. Sandy swallowed hard and took a step aside to face Kuki's would be rescuer.

"I was just chatting with this beautiful princess," he bit out. Kuki rolled her eyes and smiled slightly at her friend who raised a questioning brow. Princess?

"He was just leaving," she told Ace, then hissing to the younger boy, "Go pick up your girlfriend, Sandy, you know…my _sister_."

"Fine, fine, I'm going," Sandy muttered. He sent a dirty look the Latino's way then wandered into the crowd. Ace looked quizzically to his dark haired companion.

"Who was that hombrito?"

"My little sister's boyfriend," Kuki answered, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. She shut her locker and side-by-side they made their way to the school entrance.

Ace was strong and brave. He walked with a swagger, his chin jutting out, his eyes surveying every person they passed. Arrogance and cock rolled off him in waves. Walking beside him, any girl in the school would feel safe, but Kuki could only think that there had been a time when she felt safer with someone else.

Ace was so kind and sweet. She admired the way he took care of everyone, like the school sheriff in a way. Smaller students didn't get picked on when he was around; girls considered less attractive were treated politely. She felt like he was everywhere at once, standing over each student's shoulder as their guardian angel. She sighed, clutching her books to her chest as he opened the door for her to walk out, holding it for the people that followed behind them, a group of girls that burst into high-pitched giggles.

Kuki couldn't help wondering, why wasn't it enough?

"How'd your last classes go?" Ace was asking as they stepped into the sunlight.

Kuki spotted a blond across the parking lot and her cheeks warmed. For a moment, she thought she'd caught his eye, but his head spun away too fast. He'd been so small once, a head shorter than herself, but even then kids three times his size wouldn't dare touch him. Now she couldn't help wondering how much taller he was than her, it had been a long time since they'd stood close enough to compare.

They didn't have any classes together this year. They rarely did, most of hers were advanced and she knew he never did his homework, struggling to just pass his remedial courses. Last year they'd had the same gym period before he left second semester. She'd watch him running on the field; graceful, effortless, too far ahead of the other boys for them to ever catch up. It was how she felt, running as fast as she could to catch him but always out of reach.

Over the years she'd watched his features grow hard, his eyes cold as stone. He never smiled anymore, no more boyish grins that could stop a heartbeat. She wondered if he even laughed anymore. When it came to the others, Hoagie and Abigail, watching through that small window into their lives was difficult but she could handle it because they seemed happy in their own little worlds. She couldn't bear the heartache when it came to him. Through that window she could see he wasn't happy but she couldn't see why. She couldn't see what was hurting him and she couldn't do anything to stop it.

"Eh, Kuki," Ace's voice was in her ear, his breath against her flesh. She flinched away slightly, blushing and smiling to him, while nervously pushing loose strands of hair from her face and tucking them neatly behind her ears.

"Sorry. What were you saying?" Kuki questioned meekly.

"Just asking how your last classes went," Ace explained then, as he scanned the direction she'd been staring moments before, asked, "What's got you so distracted?" His eyes found that blond mounting the motorcycle and he scowled, "Can't believe they actually let that Beatles kid back in the school."

Kuki felt flustered, hugging herself and glancing around for Fanny, her ride home that day. Her heart raced just at the mere mention of the boy's surname.

"Why wouldn't they let him back?" she inquired, trying to keep the agitation from her voice.

"After what he did?" Ace scoffed angrily causing Kuki to shrink back. She'd never seen him angry before. He shook his head, noticing the sudden fear flash before her eyes, looking as though he wanted to do something with his hands before shoving them decisively into his pockets.

"It wasn't that bad," Kuki mumbled, mentally yelling at herself to stop talking. It looked suspicious; defending a guy she never even spoke to. Not to mention, she didn't want to upset her friend. She spotted red curls bobbing in and out of the crowd, drawing closer. Oh good, she thought, Fanny had found them.

"Wasn't that bad?" Ace demanded haughtily, glaring across the parking lot, most likely still focused on that boy, "Running a fight club out of the school basement _wasn't that bad_? Letting students beat each other to a bloody pulp without rules or regulations _wasn't that bad_? Personally putting two of those students in the hospital _wasn't that bad_?"

"Okay, okay," Kuki muttered, putting her hands up to silence him, "It was bad." She frowned at the sidewalk then added, "But…it wasn't as though he forced anyone to do anything. They all went into that basement willingly."

Kuki regretted the words as they spilled from her lips but before Ace could retort, Fanny bounded in between them and latched on to Kuki's arm.

"There you are," the Irish girl exclaimed, "I've been looking all over. We decided we'll stop for ice cream on the way home." Patty appeared from the crowd behind the redhead. She gave the still steamed Hispanic boy a wary glance.

"Ace," the mousy brunette piped. He turned his glare to her then without a word focused once more on Kuki. His features lightened when he saw her eyes shimmering and chin tremble.

"Kuki, I…" he started then stepped forward to grasp her hands and draw them up so the knuckles just brushed against his mouth, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get so worked up. I shouldn't have yelled."

Fanny and Patty both took steps back and watched the scene unfold before them with wide eyes and slightly parted lips. Kuki's cheeks dusted pink, her shining eyes became large round circles, her mouth a delicate pout. Ace stared down intently into her face, his own features exuding adoration and guilt.

"I wish I had your heart," he continued, the sincerity and romanticism of his words amplified by his expressive doe eyes, perfectly carved features, and strong Spanish accent, "That you can see something worth forgiving in someone so undeserving as Wallabee Beatles. I hope that you can forgive me, amorcita, but I do not have your heart and I cannot find forgiveness for him. To me, his crimes against this school and its population are sins from which one can never be redeemed. But for you, I will try to hold my anger and contempt in…if only you will open that kind heart of yours to me."

Fanny, Patty, and a group of curious onlookers silently waited with bated breath for Kuki's response. Would she forgive him? Would she confess her undying love for him?

Kuki blinked. Smiled. Then giggled.

"That's okay," she piped mirthfully taking her hands back to cover her cheery grin, "I know you didn't mean to yell, silly! Don't worry about it!" She quickly threw her arms about Ace's midsection, foot popping up, and telling him gleefully, "I'll see you tomorrow," then suddenly she released him. Looping her arms with Fanny and Patty's, she dragged her stunned friends through the equally stunned crowd squealing, "Yay, ice cream! That's such a great idea, you guys! I'm gonna get hot fudge caramel mocha flavored with marshmallows and cashews…"

Ace was a good boy, Kuki thought as she rambled off about ice cream. And he wanted her; he made it clear at every opportunity that presented itself. She knew that everyone at school wanted her to be with him. From the corner of a dark sloe eye, she watched that motorcycle roar from the parking lot and down the street out of sight. Wally was not a good boy. And he didn't so much as acknowledge she existed let alone express wanting her in any way.

Sometimes she wondered if giving in to Ace would make her happy. Then a small voice in her mind pleaded, _don't forget me_, and she knew it wouldn't.

"What were you and Ace talking about?" Patty queried, snapping Kuki from her musings.

They had reached Fanny's custom made Shelby GT500; colored rose pink with black racing stripes. It was marked with a specialized "DDYSGRL" license plate, lettering across the back window spelled out "Princess", and black and pink fuzzy die dangled about the rearview mirror. The interior was pink leather with black accents to match the car's paintjob outside. Fanny opened the car with the click of a button.

"Oh…uh…just arguing about something silly," Kuki explained offhandedly, sliding into the back in a silent offering of the front passenger seat to Patty. The shy girl sent an odd look to her friend, but didn't complain as she took the seat. Behind the wheel, Fanny started the car.

"Arguing?" Fanny pressed, "You two never argue."

"Yes…and…I've never seen Ace get so…so upset," Patty sheepishly observed. Kuki shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her attention out the window at the passing scenery.

Seeming to notice her friend's discomfort, Fanny shrugged, "I guess there's a first time for everything and it all ended well," then quickly changed the subject, "That was quite a surprise at lunch today."

The reference was to Nigel joining their table. Kuki had felt so elated when he'd agreed to it. She had decided it didn't matter that he couldn't see those happy images she saw or feel connected to her in the way that she did him. If she could forge a friendship with him, she told herself, then everything could be alright. She could build a mutual connection with him and finally capture that wonderful feeling that teased her in the background of fuzzy memories. She'd done the rounds of introductions. He'd already known Fanny and Patty, but not Ace nor Ricky, who Nigel was overly surprised to learn was Fanny's boyfriend. Then the British boy laid eyes on the stout carrot top at the end of the table.

"Lizzie?" he had cried out in stun.

"_Nigie_?" had been her shrill response.

As it turned out the two had dated in the fourth and fifth grade. When asked why they broke up Lizzie had responded, "I was too clingy," whereas Nigel had stated, "I wasn't responsible enough." Then they had looked to one another and broken into laughter. They spent the rest of lunch catching up, the others playfully asking questions and joking with the newly reunited couple.

"Yeah, who knew," Kuki agreed. She'd been a tad discouraged by the revelation. She couldn't help feeling left out, as 'Nigie' seemed to remember everyone who had attended Gallagher aside from herself. To be fair, she didn't really recall him either, only that strange feeling and those numbers.

"I had completely forgotten," Fanny said, "Isn't it romantic, though. They broke up and he moved away to Britain only for them to both realize their mistakes. Thinking they'd never see each other again they moved on. But then he moved back and you brought them back together again, Kuki."

"Yeah," Kuki spoke up, grinning, "I guess I did."

"They didn't get back together," Patty pointed out.

"But they will," Fanny cooed, "Did you see the passion in their eyes when they looked to one another? The love? Sort of like Ricky and I. Oh, it will be fantastic. We'll be able to go on double dates."

"I don't know…" Patty started, fiddling with her seatbelt and staring blankly out the windshield.

"Oh, and when Ace and Kuki finally get together," Fanny went on, "We can go on _triple_ dates."

"_What_?" both passengers choked out at once.

"It's like a double date except with three couples instead of two."

"Ace and I…we aren't really…" Kuki stammered, her face red, "…friends…we're just friends…"

"Honestly…Fanny…I don't think Lizzie and Nigel are suited to one another. They broke up for a reason…right? You shouldn't compare them to Ricky and you…they had puppy love…you two are epic," Patty quietly expressed, "And…maybe…I don't know…you shouldn't be planning out Kuki's future…especially with her in the car."

"Yeah, what she said," Kuki chirped from the back, leaning into her seat and grumpily folding her arms across her stomach.

"Oh, come on, Patty, everyone at school thinks Kuki and Ace were made for each other," Fanny espoused.

Patty shrugged and stated in a whisper almost too low to be heard, "I don't."

But before either girl could question their meek friend about that admission a loud car horn honked several times causing them all to jump. An old green Jeep Wrangler banged up and splattered with mud, obviously from a recent off-roading venture, pulled up beside Fanny's mustang at a red light into the left turn lane.

The two passengers were easily recognizable. Philip Laurence was in the front, a well-kempt African American boy wearing Rayban shades. He was running back for the varsity football team. Bartie Stork was in the backseat hanging off the crossbars, with straw colored hair spiked in the front and freckles lightly brushed across his face. He was the varsity teams wide receiver. Behind the wheel was Patton Drilovsky.

"Show us your boobs," Bartie called out, doubling over with laughter. Patton lightly smacked the boy while Phil just rolled his eyes, chuckling as well.

Fanny rolled her window down despite Patty's pleading beside her to let it go and yelled out, "What the hell do you stupid boys want?"

Kuki sank down in her seat trying to hold her laughter back, Patty begged the feisty redhead to put the window back up.

"What's this, Fulbrite? Aren't you supposed to wait until your fruity boyfriend commands you to 'speak'?" Patton shot back.

"Oh very clever, Drilovsky," Fanny spat sarcastically, "For your information, Ricky doesn't command me to do anything. He is, and I know this is a hard concept for you to grasp, a gentleman."

"A gentleman…a true lady…are you two attending a costume ball or in a relationship?" Patton replied coolly, "It's kind of hard to tell with all the masks you both wear."

"You know what else I don't need Ricky to command me to do?" Fanny seethed, "Get out of this car and beat you over the head!"

"Please don't do that…just stop talking to him, Fanny," Patty whimpered. Kuki snorted in the back and slapped a hand over her mouth.

"Well someone had to wear the pants in their relationship," Phil commented to Patton, "And my money was never on that powder poof, Strowd."

"That's not very ladylike of you, Fulbrite," Patton teasingly warned then suddenly a very sly smile slipped across his face, "Tell me something, princess, when you…uh…beat me over the head, will you be doing it with or without the tiara on? I do prefer with…"

"Ugh…in your dreams, Drilovsky," Fanny growled, her entire face the color of a tomato, "You know, I don't really understand what a woman with Rachel McKenzie's intellect would see in a useless meathead like you but I guess we all make mistakes once in awhile."

Patton's features darkened but as he opened his mouth to reply, Kuki rolled the back driver-side window down and stuck her head out.

"Thanks for chatting with us, you guys, but the light is green and the people behind you are getting really mad."

The boys all blanched.

"Oh shit," Patton choked out, "Kuki, I'm so sorry, I didn't know you were in the…"

"Drive, man," Philip urged, slapping his friend's shoulder and pointing forward. He waved slightly at the grinning Japanese girl hanging out her window.

Both drivers put the gas on and Bartie, dangling off the crossbar, called after the mustang, "I'm sorry about the boob comment, Kooks!"

"That's okay, we're getting ice cream," Kuki cheerfully yelled back. Rolling her window up

"Oh, Fanny, you shouldn't have engaged," Patty was muttering, shaking her head mournfully.

Kuki leaned over Fanny's seat and smiled smugly to her friend, "So…what's going on with you and Patton?"

"He's a jerk and I hate him," Fanny answered between clenched teeth.

"That's right," Patty agreed, "He is a jerk and you should hate him. He's not even half the man Ricky is…at least…I don't think he is."

"No, Patty, you're right. He isn't," Fanny told her, "He's nothing but a stupid, good-for-nothing, useless, lousy, little boy!"

Kuki giggled then leaned back in her seat and hummed to herself. After a moment, she glanced to the brunette in the front and quickly flickered her eyes out the window again, flushing as she realized Patty was staring her down in the rearview mirror, those usually meek black eyes burning with a strange intensity.

After a few heartbeats, Kuki dared glancing back up again but Patty had turned her attention forward and was adjusting the radio. The petite Asian looked out the window, smoothing her worried look, telling herself she'd just imagined it.

_I don't._ Kuki frowned. What had the shy girl meant by that?

* * *

AN: Oh, Hoagie. He's all bitter and snarky. I love it, personally. But I guess it doesn't matter what I think, so much, as what you all think. Don't worry, Hoagie will regain some of his Numbuh 2 charm eventually. And Kooks, sigh. A little insight into her head. I'm sorry about how I presented Nigel and Lizzie's reunion. I had originally planned on it being at the end of last chapter, then I pushed it back to this chapter, then I said "forget it" because I didn't want to go back to lunch for something so trivial, but ended up doing it anyway for Hoagie's part...of course, his segment was more important than meeting Lizzie. Anyway, it became a mere flashback instead. Oh well. Lizzie is going to have a semi-medium sized role in this story...so expect to see more of her. I'm still feeling out Sonya and Lee's characters, but don't worry, they're going to have pretty big roles too.

Phil Laurence is based off Numbuh Infinity (per requested cameo). I took his name from "Phil Lemarr" who voiced the character and "Laurence Fishburne" who played Morpheus for whom his character was roughly designed after. Bartie Stork is Numbuh 35. And....uh....please don't dwell too long on Patton's last comeback to Fanny...if you don't know what he was implying then you don't need to.

In case you failed to notice, I like picking out vehicles for the characters. The cars they drive say so much about their personalities, I think. Hoagie is like me, a pick-up truck, durable and reliable. Wally is definitely a motorcycle or dirtbike, rebel all the way. Oh, Abby, the silent and world-aware hybrid. Fanny is a spoiled brat sports car. What do you think the jeep says about Patton?

Yay, another chapter down!


	8. Chapter 7

AN: I told myself that I would only post tonight if I got 7 reviews on the last chapter before I got off work today. So everyone thank randomzchicka, jeni27, and Dawnmist11 for reviewing today and making my quota.

Here it is, the next exciting chapter of FRAGMENTS...and it's a crazy one! READ!! Yay!

* * *

Chapter 7:

Dr. Lincoln gave a dissatisfied cluck of the tongue as he exited the examining room, scanning an open folder in his hands. His patient, the elderly cafeteria lady from Gallagher Elementary, followed closely behind.

"I don't know what to tell you…ah…Missus Stuffem," he was saying, "You really have to watch your diet, what with your bad cholesterol, and the clogging of the arteries."

"Oh, but doctor," the hunched woman argued in a husky Polish accent, "Why must I give up all the foods I love so much?"

"Well…" Dr. Lincoln started only to be cut off when the doors to the clinic burst open. A young woman in a yellow polka dotted dress rushed in, clutching to her bosom the motionless body of a small child no older than four or five, his wide pale brown eyes glossed over.

"Please, someone, you have to help my son," she pleaded with the startled front lobby, tears streaming down her cheeks. The nurses behind the front counter were stunned, looking to one another.

"What seems to be the problem, miss," Dr Lincoln spoke up, stepping out front.

"My son," the woman whimpered, holding the limp form forward, head lolling to the side, she sobbed, "I don't know what happened. He was out in the yard…playing with his toys… I went to check on him and…and…"

"Alright, alright, just calm down," the doctor soothed, as he checked the boy's vitals. The people in the lobby were stirring, watching with horrified interest and obvious concern for the child's well-being. Brow knit together, Dr. Lincoln ushered the young mother into an examining room, calling to the nurses over his shoulder, "Page Dr. Hux, I'm going to need a hand with the rest of these patients, then get me a cart to transport this boy to ICU."

"Yes, sir," the women replied, one rushing to the phone, as the others attempted to ease the worries of their patrons.

Dr. Lincoln instructed the woman to lay her son down upon the examining room table. He flashed a light in both the boy's eyes then peered into his ears. He pressed the stethoscope to the child's chest, listened for a moment while staring at his watch. The mother stood apprehensively behind him, clutching her hands together in prayer, eyes squeezed shut, tears flowing freely.

"Was there any evidence your son might've knocked his noggin?" the doctor inquired.

The mom shook her head fiercely then contradicted herself as she stammered, "Maybe…I don't know…I don't think so…but it's possible. Oh, God, doctor…is he alright? Is he going to be alright?"

"I don't know, yet," Dr. Lincoln answered honestly. He forced a reassuring smile as he felt around the boy's skull for a lump or any other indication of impact, he moved to investigating the boy's exposed skin, his arms and legs, for possible bites or any other indicators of what might have caused his catatonic state, "All his vitals seem to be fine, though, miss. His heart's a-beating strong, BPMs normal and he's breathing. Is there anything else you can remember about the incident? Maybe a plant in the area he could've eaten?"

"No…no, he doesn't eat things off the ground…he's very picky," the woman whimpered. She gave a wretched cry then, her shoulders shaking violently, as she buried her face in her hands.

"Ma'am, I need you to stay with me. You aren't helping your boy like that," Dr. Lincoln told her gently, "Does he have any allergies?"

"Just dust and pollen…" she whispered, "But it isn't bad…he only gets the sniffles and…and red eyes."

"Is there a history of family illness? Maybe epilepsy or…"

"No…nothing. Well, my aunt had a hypothyroid. Do you think, maybe…?"

"It's possible…" Dr. Lincoln answered doubtfully. He pulled his hand back suddenly in shock.

"What…what is it?" the mother asked, trembling.

Dr. Lincoln's forehead wrinkled as he tilted the boy's head gently to the side, saying, "I don't know…"

By the boy's ear was a very small bump, shimmering like the surface of a gasoline puddle. It shivered and rippled. Before Dr. Lincoln's eyes it seemed to be growing, slowly but surely. The doctor, perhaps against better judgment, gripped the weird thing between his thumb and index finger and tugged. It held tight. He crossed the room, found a pair of tweezers amongst his equipment, and under the mother's curious stare, used the tool to grip the shiny bump. This time it gave way, a silver strand extending from the odd dot to a tiny puncture in the boy's skin. Held by the tweezers, whatever the thing was, wriggled and squirmed as though alive.

In surprise, the doctor dropped the thing, breaking the silver strand, and the dot moved rapidly across the room. The mother unthinkingly slammed a foot atop the odd creature. She lifted her shoe. The bump had popped like a grape, a shiny purple smear across the white tile.

A male nurse rushed into the room with a trolley in the outside hall. He looked between the speechless doctor and mother, then to the ink-like splatter they were gaping at on the floor. On the table the boy sat up, eyes blank, expressionless.

"Mother," he said, in a monotone. The woman gasped, covering her mouth with both hands and the men, astonished, turned to the boy.

"Oh, Kenny," the woman cried out, crossing the room and wrapping her son in an embrace he didn't return, "Baby, you're alright. How do you feel?"

"Feel?" the boy repeated, voice still in that eerie monotone, eyes staring into space unblinking, "I feel…nothing, mother."

-5-4-3-2-1-

Gathered together at Louisa's after school in their makeshift headquarters, otherwise known as her basement, the bushy-tailed members of Sector V waited as their leader discussed the Kids Next Door's new situation with Numbuh 5,072. Louisa was standing to the side of Joey, watching him as he was debriefed on their new prime operative. T.S. was sitting on a dusty paisley sofa, chewing on his stuffed rabbit's ears. While Kalani was in the far corner, flicking her whip about in a flashy display while sucking on a lollipop.

"I understand, Numbuh 5,072, sir. My operatives and I will do our best," Joey saluted the boy on screen, who returned the gesture, and then the video cut. He turned to his team as they startled to attention, announcing, "Alright, you guys. It seems Global Command has a real mission for us now. Someone hacked the KND sooper computer on Moonbase."

"What?" Kalani gaped, "That's not possible!"

T.S. tightened his grip on his rabbit, glancing between his fellow operatives anxiously. Louisa shook her head in despair.

"Who could have the capabilities of cracking K.A.N.-O.-S.O.U.P.?" the frizz-top questioned.

"It's our mission to find out," Joey told her, then addressing the entire team, "Global Command believes that the perpetrator may be a former Kids Next Door operative turned Teen Ninja. Someone with inside knowledge of our security systems. Our mission is to investigate, not apprehend, these suspects. It is of top priority that the news of our systems breach not be leaked to enemies."

"Did the hacker obtain any KND extra extremely confidential information?" Louisa inquired, joining T.S. on the couch. The small boy's jade eyes widened at that, he looked to his leader.

Joey frowned, lowering his head so that his gray eyes were hidden, "Global Command is not yet certain…"

"Then we'd better get to work on nabbing the losers responsible. Right, Numbuh 25?" Kalani spoke up enthusiastically.

"Exactly," Joey agreed, determination overtaking his features, "We've been assigned three fugitives in our area. One is a known member of the Teen Ninjas, Virginia Sims, formerly Numbuh 23. She helped integrate K.A.N.-O.-S.O.U.P. into the KND computer systems. Considered highly dangerous, she is our top priority of investigation. The others are Pete and Peter Doblemitz, twins, formerly Numbuhs 44 and 44. They had access to low level codes. Though their threat level is not as high as Virginia, they have been known to administer severely painful double noogies and Global Command recommends we approach with extreme caution.

"Numbuh 68, I'm putting you on advanced surveillance of Virginia while Numbuhs 1959 and 3.14159 investigate the twins with me. Hopefully we can rule them out quickly as our possible hacker then focus our energies on her. Watch Virginia carefully, Numbuh 68, but keep your distance. You do not have the experience to handle someone of her caliber. Understood?"

T.S. nodded, a rabbit's ear still held between his teeth.

"Good," Joey told him, then to the entire team, "Numbuh 3.14159, I want our best equipment prepped and ready. Numbuh 1959, you'll assist me with blueprints of the twins' headquarters and mapping entry and exit points. I'll go in tonight. Numbuh 68, I want Virginia's schedule for the week. Record all her comings and goings, and the names and addresses of everyone she encounters, if she so much as passes a guy on the street I want a full background check on him."

The team uneasily accepted their assignments. Shifting uncomfortably and looking about uncertain. It was obvious they felt in over their heads on this first assignment. Taking on Teen Ninjas fresh out of the Arctic Academy? Global Command couldn't start them off with something simple, like ice cream delivery? Joey smirked at his teammates.

"The original Sector V are legends," Joey started, his operatives looking to him with interest, "While we may not know their names or where they are today, we know their Numbuhs and the Kids Next Door will always know the great things they have done for kids everywhere. This is our first mission as a team, you guys. I know that we're all nervous, I know that we're all scared. But Numbuhs 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5 weren't always legends. They started out the same as us, with a first mission. I'm sure they were nervous and I'm sure they were scared, just like us. But they stood tall, fought hard, and went down in history as the five most super awesome cool operatives to ever serve. We have what it takes to follow in their footsteps, you guys, so lets get out there and prove to everyone that we _are _Sector V! Kids Next Door rules!"

Joey pumped his fist into the air, shouting the last statement. His Sector, rallied by his words, threw their fists up as well.

"Kids Next Door rules," they cried back in unison.

"Let's get to work," Joey exclaimed, clapping his hands together.

T.S. and Kalani left together to gather 2x4 technology they could use for their missions as Joey reviewed the profiles of their suspects once more in case he'd missed something. He didn't want his team caught unawares by previously unknown wedgie capabilities or wet-willy attacks. He glanced up when Louisa approached him.

"Hey…uh…Joseph," Louisa started in a low stammer, fidgeting with the edge of her shirt and eyeing the floor. Her freckled cheeks were tinged slightly pink. Joey fiddled with the files in his hands, finding an interesting spot on the floor, his face warming. Why did she have to have those buckteeth that made her talk with that lisp that made his stomach feel all weird inside?

"Yeah, Lulu?"

"That was really good. Your…uh…speech. It was awesome," she murmured.

"Thanks…you really think so? I made it up…just now," Joey replied, glancing up at her through messy bangs. She nodded furiously, shuffling from foot to foot and brushing her fuzzy sand-colored hair from her face. They stood like that for a few heartbeats, awkward and blushing.

Then suddenly, as though remembering something, Louisa cleared her throat.

"Um…yeah," she began in a firmer voice, tugging her shirt down and clasping her hands behind her back, "About the emergency signal we picked up this morning."

"Oh, yes, that," Joey straightened, shaking away his fluster, and going into leader mode once more, "Did you find anything?"

"The signal we picked up was most definitely not a malfunction of our transmitters," Louisa whispered quietly, "I was able to trace the source, the signature was not KND regulation but it's operating off our frequency." She glanced nervously to T.S. and Kalani to ensure they weren't listening. Her turquoise eyes locked with Joey's stormy ones. She swallowed hard before continuing, "The signal originated from out of Willem High School."

-1-2-3-4-5-

Mr. Beatles car was in the driveway when Wally pulled up to his house. He removed his helmet and scowled. It was never good when his father was home early. He noted his mother was home as well. As soon as he reached the front door he knew they were fighting. Through the window he could see the kitchen light was on and the television muted. Heaving a sigh, he entered the house, the smell of tobacco and nicotine wafting into his nose. Mom was smoking. The fight was _bad_.

"…well isn't that convenient," Wally's mother was yelling, "And what am I supposed to do? I have plans you know!"

"Plans? What plans do you have?" his father shouted back, "Cripes, Jill, it's just for a couple days!"

"Well excuse me if I'm not you with your nose down and your bum up," his mother sardonically shot back, "But I do have a life, you know. I can't just drop everything and head off to the back of Bourke because his nibs wants you looking respectable with a Sheila on your arm at some stupid conference."

When the front door clicked shut behind Wally, his parents fell silent. He winced. His mother's form filled the kitchen doorframe.

"Wallabee, get your arse upstairs and clean your room," she snarled in greeting.

From behind her his father called, "Cripes sake, the boy just got home. Let him breathe for a minute before you get on his goat," then peeking his head out he smiled to Wally, "Welcome home, sport."

"Let him breathe?" Mrs. Beatles shrieked, she spun on her heel, fixing her husband with a glare, "For crying out loud, Boomer, you let him breathe too long and he's out getting his-self up a gumtree! That's all the little drongo does you know. If he ain't starting a barney then he's nicking the neighbors' mailbox. Would you like to know what word _your_ son taught my sweet little Joey this morning?"

"Bloody hell, Jill, why do you always have to be on his case? He just walked through the door and you're already calling him a drongo and a criminal. I'll tell you, I'm really starting to get tired of this crud."

"You're getting tired? Well isn't that nice, arsehole, _you're_ starting to get tired of _your_ son causing trouble. You know why he does it? Because you're too lenient, too _weak_. What did you say to him that time he cut his hair like a bloody rooster? Slap on the shoulder and a 'Good on ya', mate'!"

"Boy was experimenting!"

"He looked like a hoodlum."

Wally rolled his eyes, slipping into the kitchen and opening the refrigerator. He took a chug from the milk carton.

"Come on, now, Sport, you know better than that," his father called to him, "Put it in a cup, eh?"

"Sure, dad," Wally muttered, closing the milk back into the fridge.

"That right there," his mother roared, "Not even a slap on the wrist. You're a pushover, Boomer, and you let him shove you around. Like you let everyone shove you around. Then you come home and act like I'm supposed to bow to the whims of a loser like you!"

"Did Joey come home?" Wally questioned.

"I don't let anyone shove me around. I'm sorry if I don't feel the need to earbash the poor boy as soon as he walks through the door. At least he knows what its like to work all day. Jill, I'm really starting to get mad as a cut snake here."

"Did Joey take the bus home?" Wally attempted again, slightly louder.

"Oh I'm shaking in my boots. How dare you…you worthless bushwacker, couldn't train a choko vine over a country dunny! As if you know anything about being flat to the boards, you no good nong."

"Anyone know where Joey is?"

"Don't forget who you're talking to. I bring home the bacon. What exactly do you do all day? Sit on your bum? In front of the idiot box? Go to the salon; get your nails…your hair done? Waste of time and my money if you ask me 'cause I've seen better heads on…"

Wally sighed, shaking his head, starting for the door.

"Yes, dipdong, that's exactly what I do all day. And who do you think cleans your castle, almighty bringer of a dingy bit of ham. I scrub this house top to bottom, I do the laundry, I buy the groceries that I use to cook your bloody meals, raise your sons, lot of good it does when one's already a crook bent as a scrub tick…"

Wally froze in the doorway, hands balled into fists, jaw set.

"There you go again. You leave him out of this. It ain't his fault…"

"That's right. Maybe if you had been a better father I wouldn't have to apologize to an entire town for _your_ son's behavior. I wouldn't have to take time out of my day, _cause Lord knows you're too busy_, to drive him to all those quacks. Do you know how embarrassing it is waiting in lines for those pills, the odd looks they give you behind the counter…"

"I sure do. I've been through it all too!"

"Like hell you have!"

"Why is he my fault anyhow? If you're the one raising him on top of all the other crap you claim to do around here? Maybe it ain't my fault he's around the twist. Maybe it's because you were a bad mother!"

"You bastard! How dare you…"

Wally relaxed his muscles. Took a deep breath and exited the kitchen; bounding up the stairs as his parents continued to shout behind him. He knocked on Joey's door; found the room empty, and frowned. He decided he would have drive to Gallagher, make sure the kid got on his bus all right. Wordlessly, he left the house. His parents argument getting heated once more with accusations and excuses.

The ride to Gallagher was peaceful. He took his time, obeyed the speed limits, watching kids walk past on their ways home from school. Wally had to admit he didn't mind first days. There was no homework and it came with a certain amount of excitement. Wondering of what the classes would be like, who he would share them with, hoping for new teachers that wouldn't know him of whom he could take advantage. The new year had already started out on a nice note. He liked that Nigel kid, despite the guy being a pommie. Scowling, Wally recalled his strange musings at lunch and his unfortunate encounter with Ernie.

With a heavy sigh, Wally tightened his grip on the bike handlebars. Eventually everyone wanted something from him and he wondered how long it would be before Nigel wanted something too. Maybe a little extra muscle at his British back, maybe a few answers on the next Math test, maybe a VIP pass into Chicken Pete's highly private Crispy Nugget Casino. People always used people; that was what Wally had come to learn in life, and there were no exceptions.

Wally wasn't a friend, only a meal ticket.

Pulling up to the side of Gallagher, Wally scanned the front and the far field. Students were still hanging around the school but Joey wasn't one of them. Shaking his head and kicking his motorcycle back into action he decided to do a few rounds through the neighborhoods, if Joey had missed the bus he may have chosen to walk home.

Until sun set, Wally rode through the streets looking for his brother. As the air was beginning to get cold and his arms were bare, he made the decision to head home. When he arrived back at the house, he sighed with relief to see Joey's bicycle lying in the lawn. The kid had probably just been out with his friends. Wally entered the house to find his parents had stopped arguing. Mr. Beatles was on the couch watching a news program and eating a T.V. dinner. His expression was hard and grim. The smell of smoke still wafted in the air, slightly streaming from the kitchen. Mrs. Beatles was most likely sucking on a cigarette at the dining room table with a bottle of beer.

"Where have you been?" Wally's father greeted him, voice terse, eyes glued to the television.

"Out."

Trudging into the kitchen, mother not even glancing at him from the table, Wally scanned the refrigerator for a dinner. He grabbed a cold leftover sausage from the night before and began eating it as he set a kettle on the stove to boil.

"If you drink tea at this hour you'll be up all night," Mrs. Beatles warned, annoyed, from the table. She flicked ash from her cigarette on a plate set to the side.

Wally shrugged, muttering, "I'll be up all night anyway."

"Have you not been taking your medication?" his mother demanded, shooting him a dangerous look. Wally rolled his eyes, plucking the box of teabags from the top of the fridge and digging out an Earl Grey.

"Yes I have been."

"Then why are you not sleeping?"

Wally leaned against the counter, munching on his makeshift dinner and examining his mother. Her hair, neatly done that morning, was falling out, loose strands dangling here and there. She had removed all her jewelry, her feet were bare, her blouse sleeves curled up. Her eyes were red-rimmed and raccoon-like with runny mascara and smudged liner. The lipstick she'd stained her mouth with was dry and cracked. In one hand she held a beer bottle, the other had a cigarette betwixt neatly manicured fingers. She visibly trembled.

The kettle gave out a scream and Wally removed it from the heat. Finishing eating, he poured the water over the teabag dangling in a mug, moving the bag around to better steep his tea. Taking the cup, he wordlessly left the kitchen and headed upstairs. He knocked on Joey's door then opened it, finding the little boy lying on the floor, propped up on elbows over an open book. Stormy eyes looked curiously up at him through shaggy locks.

"You take the bus home?" Wally bit out question.

"You told me to," Joey replied, confused. Wally looked away, biting his tongue and shaking his head with contained frustration.

"Did you eat dinner?" he snapped.

"Yeah…mom made me a sandwich."

The small boy shrunk down, looking to his brother with fear and uncertainty. The older boy was glaring at some spot on the carpet. After a few heartbeats, he shook his head, rolled his eyes, and left muttering curses under his breath.

Wally went to his room. He began a workout to focus his anger on something. Push-ups, pull ups, sit-ups, lunges, he had a few dumbbells under a pile of dirty laundry, and used them as well for curls and such. Then he moved to the punching bag for two-minute sessions break for one-minute in between.

Washu, wrestling, jeet kune do, muay thai, American boxing, shotokan, even Brazilian jiu jitsu had all been part of his training over the years. When he wasn't out raising hell he was at a dojo or a martial studio somewhere. His teachers had all been impressed that someone so lacking in focus could so quickly pick up on the forms and techniques the way that he had. A natural, they always said. He couldn't control his emotions, but his body was a different matter.

The martial arts didn't help soothe his mind in the way that adrenaline rushes did, however. According to one therapist, it made him worse.

For a good two and a half hours Wally worked his body until he was drenched in sweat, his hair plastered to the sides of his face and clothes clinging wretchedly to his skin. Downstairs, he could hear his parents talking in low voices. He peeled his garments off, tossing them to one side of the room, and went to take a shower; water hot enough to burn, scrubbing his flesh raw.

Ten minutes later, Mother and father were fighting again as Wally dried and dressed in sweats and a t-shirt. He could hear them hurling insults, tearing at each other with the most painful things they could think to say. He took a seat at his desk, cluttered with items, and sought out a sketchbook, laying it flat to a blank page. He wasn't particularly talented at drawing but a therapist once recommended it to help with his 'emotional instabilities'. One art teacher described his work as "horrific and traumatizing" then urged him to put it away before it gave her nightmares which only encouraged him to continue.

With a pencil, Wally started the outline of an image that had been haunting his dreams. A vision of a man in black. He kept one ear open to his parents. He didn't want to go down there but he would if it seemed things were getting out of hand. They were arguing again about the weekend. It seemed Mr. Beatles boss, Mr. Fulbrite, wanted Mrs. Beatles to attend an upcoming conference with her husband. For all intents and purposes it didn't sound like too bad an excursion, in Wally's opinion, but his mother was deadest on not going to the point of being outright offended by the invite.

A ruffle of cloth from the corner of his room caused Wally to freeze, muscles tensing. He eyed a pile of laundry warily. The shouting downstairs grew incomprehensible and more heated. A shirt rumpled with a tiny sneeze. Wally frowned, sighing. He crossed the room and ripped the shirt from atop the pile, tossing it to the floor, revealing twin beams of smoky gray.

"Out," he commanded.

"Aw…but Wally," Joey whimpered, stepping from underneath the stack of dirty clothes.

"What have I told you about being in my room? I don't want you in here, so get out!" Wally growled, pointing furiously at the door. Joey lowered his head, obscuring his features, trudging towards the door and opening it. He stood still in the frame, sniffed and turned back.

"I don't want to go to my room," Joey pleaded, "Can't I just stay here with you, just tonight? Please, Wally? I won't get in the way. I'll sleep on the floor…in the closet!"

Wally folded his arms over his chest, growling, "No way. You snore. Besides, I'm busy. What's wrong with your room all of a sudden?"

"There's a monster…" Joey blurted out hastily.

A crash resounded downstairs and Wally didn't miss the way his younger brother flinched. He lowered his head, strained to hear what his parents were saying, heart pounding in his chest. He really didn't want to have to go down there.

"…that was my grandmother's vase, arsehole!" their mother screamed.

"Explains why it was so hideous, dingbat always had awful taste," their father roared response.

Wally sighed, staring at his brother through wild blond strands.

"A monster," he repeated skeptically.

"…under my bed," Joey confirmed quietly, chin to his chest to hide the tears starting to form, shuddering against the roar downstairs.

"Well alright then," Wally announced. He crossed the room, lifting the eight-year-old boy up with ease and tossing him over a shoulder, then carried him down the hallway.

Inside the younger brother's room, door securely shut behind them, Wally placed Joey's little league helmet atop the small boy's head, patting its top for good measure, as stormy eyes watched with interest. The elder brother then wrapped the younger with a pillow held in place by a black faux leather belt. For himself, he had already donned a hockey mask and a shield from Joey's Halloween costume last year tied across his chest.

"Wally?"

"Yeah, Joe?"

"What are we doing?"

"What're we doing?" Wally cried out incredulously. He looked to his younger brother as though the boy were insane, "We're arming ourselves, mate! If we pop our heads under your bed to tell that monster to nark off without the proper gear on we'll be in the cactus real quick!"

"Oh," Joey mouthed, then furrowing his brow, "Wally?"

"Yeah, Joey."

"What's 'nark off' mean?"

"Uh…to go away…get lost…something like that."

"Oh," Joey frowned, "Wally?"

"What, Joey?"

"Why would we be in a cactus? We don't even have a cactus."

Wally sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "It just means we'll be in trouble, Joey."

"Oh."

"You ready?" Wally asked.

The little boy nodded uncertainly, straightening his helmet somewhat. With a bat in hand, Wally stepped forward, lifting the bed skirt up and peeking under, too dark to see anything. Joey squatted next to him.

"Eh, monster," Wally called, "This is my brother's bed and he don't want you under there." He looked expectantly at Joey who blinked, startled, then cleared his throat.

"Oh…uh…" the little boy stammered, "Yeah…um…come out or we'll…er…have to come in there and get you…uh…out." Wally lowered the skirt, shaking his head at the other boy.

"Come on, Joey, you can do better than that. You got to really give it to him. Like this," Wally lifted the skirt again, bellowing, "If you don't get out of there, monster, we're going to knock you into next year! We'll wallop you so hard your grandkids'll be born barmy."

"Uh…yeah…" Joey attempted, "It'll hurt…like…a lot…and you'll cry…like a little girl."

"A bit better," Wally critiqued, "But you really got to put some anger into it. Get really mad, Joey. That lousy monster is lying under your bed keeping you awake at night and making you hide in my dirty daks and shirts, time to tell it what's what and who's boss, right? You really gotta lay into the jerk."

"Okay, I got one," Joey murmured. He scrunched his face and balled his hands into tiny fists, yelling out, "Hey, you, monster, you'd really better nark off 'cause if you don't I'll take you apart piece by piece with my bare hands and feed you to my hamsters!"

"Not bad," Wally whistled approval, he raised a brow, "You don't have any hamsters."

"I'll get hamsters to power my tree house," Joey responded matter-of-factly.

"You don't have a tree house," Wally pointed out.

"My sector will be assigned one eventually."

"O…kay…" Wally turned his attention back to the underbelly of Joey's bed, suddenly giving a gasp and grabbing his brother's shoulders, jolting the younger boy back, "Did you see that?"

"See what?" Joey exclaimed, suddenly afraid and glancing about. Wally gave another gasp, pointing frantically into the dark.

"Right there," he cried, and Joey, fighting a smile, caught the mock fear in his brother's voice, "It's the monster, Joey, it's huge. And boy, it sure looks pissed. I don't think it liked what you said!"

"Oh no, Wally," Joey gulped, with equally false panic, "What do we do?"

"We have to fight it. Can't back down now, got to back up our words or it'll always be under your bed," Wally told him firmly, then widening his eyes, he gently shoved the little boy aside, "Watch out, Joey, here it comes!"

Wally made a show of falling back as though thrown to the floor by great force, and rolled about as if wrestling an invisible assailant. Joey leapt to his feet, watching with wide-eyes and uncertainty.

"You gotta help me, Joey," Wally cried between flying fists, "I can't fight this thing by myself! It's too big for me!"

"Okay, Wally," Joey piped, struggling for a moment to figure out how to approach the jumbled mess of his brother and invisible monster then, shrugging, simply leapt in to assist.

The boys tumbled about the floor, throwing haphazard fists, tossing themselves about, and putting on a grand display. Wally slammed against the bureau, causing several items to topple over and slide off. Joey banged into the bed, jerking it out of place and coiling himself in the blanket. One of the boys caught a cord and the lamp on Joey's desk crashed to the ground. Joey tripped over it, catching his chin on the corner of his desk and landing with a heavy thud.

"Wallabee, knock it off up there," their mother screeched from downstairs.

Sighing, Wally collapsed into the blanket on the floor beside his younger brother, staring up at the ceiling and attempting to catch his breath.

"I think we lost," he said. Joey was silent. Wally turned his head so he could see his brother, "You alright?"

"Yeah…" Stormy eyes hid behind shaggy tresses, "Wally?"

"Hm?" Green eyes back on the ceiling.

"There wasn't really a monster under my bed."

"I know, Joe." Wally quietly admitted. He sat up, undoing his 'armor' and tossed it aside. He'd lost the hockey mask and bat somewhere between the dresser and the floor.

"Because if there had been a monster under my bed, I would have called in the Kids Next Door. There's a unit that specializes in extracting monsters out from under the bed," Joey assured his brother, "They're better equipped to handle that kind of situation."

Wally paused, eyeing the younger boy oddly, before sighing and shaking his head with a frown, "Where do you come up with these things, Joey?"

He started piling the blankets and pillows back on the bed, one ear listening for his parents. They seemed to have stopped shouting. He heard the front door opening down the stairs.

His mother demanded, "Where are you going?"

"To get zonked," was his father's gruff answer.

"Well that's just great, Boomer, leave me with the boys _again_ you worthless larrikin. Weak as cat's piss…"

"Are mom and dad going to get a divorce," Joey whispered so softly, the older boy barely heard him. Wally whipped round.

"Where did you hear that word?" he demanded in a rough hiss.

Joey shrank back, paling, he quickly explained, "Kalani. Her parents are divorced. She stays with her dad here, her mom is in Hawaii. She goes there during summer and over Christmas and stuff."

"Mom and dad aren't getting divorced," Wally told the younger boy firmly, straightening Joey's blankets and arranging his pillows at the head of the bed.

"But what if they do?" Joey pressed, a few stray tears tumbling down his cheeks, he quickly swiped at them in hopes his brother wouldn't notice, "Kalani said when parents fight a lot they have to get a divorce and can't live together anymore and the kids can only live with one at a time. Mom and dad always fight so doesn't that mean they have to get a divorce? I don't want to live with only dad, he works all the time. And I don't want to just live with mom, she always yells at you."

Wally was silent, smoothing the wrinkles out of the pillows. He took a deep breath and turned, "Tell you what, Joey," he started gingerly, lifting the boy up by his arms so he dangled a couple feet above the floor and carrying him over to the bed, "If mom and dad get divorced – _which they won't _– you and I won't go live with either of them." He lay his brother on the bed, tugged the blankets up and tucked them over the small boy, "We'll run away, just the two of us, and…I don't know…join the circus. You like the circus, right? It'll be great, I'll feed you to the lions."

"No way," Joey cried, smiling up at his brother with a glint in his eyes, "I'll tame the lions and feed you to them!"

Wally laughed at that, ruffling the younger boy's hair, "Oh will you, now? You think you got the guts for it? Now get to sleep, brat. You ain't missing that bus tomorrow."

Joey sank back into his pillow watching his brother walk towards the door.

"Wally?"

"Yeah, Joey?" Wally paused, hand on the light switch, door held ajar.

"Um…well…get to sleep too."

"Erm…yeah…I will. Night."

The light went out and the door closed quietly behind Wally. He went back to his room. Downstairs, he could hear his mother pacing in the kitchen, taking quick drags from her umpteenth cigarette that night. Inside his room, Wally emptied the pockets of his jeans from that day. He held the little white cut of paper between two fingers like a playing card. After a moment, he curled it in his hand then expertly flicked it across the room. He picked the phone up from its cradle atop his bedside stand. Dialed. Held the receiver to his ear, falling back on his bed to stare up at the ceiling. A few rings and there came an answer.

"It's me," he stated in a rough whisper, "I'm in. Forget the warehouse, though. I know a much better place."

* * *

AN: OK, Dr. Lincoln has a strange encounter with an odd creature, Joey's unit finally get their first mission, and a little peek into the Beatles family life. What is going on?? And what could possibly happen next?? I don't know!!!

Anyway, let me know what you think! ;) And I'll see ya' guys next update.


	9. Chapter 8

AN: Okie, so this is a really long chapter and I don't think it's a very good one. Oh well, I'll find out when everyone reviews, I suppose. I'm really tired...I should be in bed. Hm... anyhoo. I really feel like people are getting impatient with this story so I feel I should explain; I know when some people say that their story is going to be long they mean somewhere around say...40,000 words. Not me. When I say this story is going to be long I mean somewhere around...30 chapters, averaging anywhere between 5,000 to 10,000 words apiece. Currently, this story isn't even a third of the way down, so you'll have to bare with me that the team hasn't entirely come together yet. I understand, because I'm feeling as impatient as all of you guys to see them together. Like I said, a *lot* is going on in this story that I have to lay the foundation down for.

I think that all made sense. Anyhoo, get to reading.

* * *

Chapter 8:

In the low light of dusk, one figure, shadowed by the coming night, stood in a fenced yard staring up at a black and brown Owl butterfly perched upon the trunk of a Cyprus tree. Two fellows hovered nearby.

"Do you know what I like about butterflies?" the first figure spoke.

The two others glanced to one another, remained silent.

"Most people admire their beauty or grace. Some people see them as symbols of hope or freedom. Not me. No…" the speaker's head shook in the dark, "Me? I like their wings."

The speaker paused, smirked. The two others shifted nervously, backs straight and shoulders squared.

"Did you know that you could wipe out a whole civilization just by stepping on a butterfly?" A hand swept forward and the Lepidoptera was gone in the night. "Do we have confirmation of deviation?"

"Yes. According to plan. But are you certain that this is right?" the second figure replied.

"No. Nothing is ever certain. We do what we must and just try not to step on any butterflies along the way," the first answered, shuffling, and turning to the third figure, "I understand you have a name for me."

"Yes…"

"Well, what is it?"

"You're not going to like it," the third figure warned.

"I'm not here for my pleasure," the first retorted.

Another exchanged glance.

"…Lincoln."

Response came as a sharp intake of breath.

-1-2-3-4-5-

The computer clock read 3:28 AM, the glow of its screen the only light in the room. Nigel ran a wary hand over his face, leaning back in his desk chair and stretching his arms over his head. Several browser windows were open onscreen in front of him, research on the human mind, insomnia, déjà vu, dreams, alternate realities, insanity – only a legal term as it turned out, and memories – particularly of the repressed variety. He'd spent the afternoon since arriving home in his room running checks on his three new "friends"; Hoagie, Kuki, and, Wally, as well as the mysterious Abigail.

Nigel hadn't turned up much information, though he hadn't been very thorough, leaving certain stones yet unturned. They all had attended Gallagher Elementary and Fontenot Middle School, which the Brit had already known. He also learned with a bit of hacking that, of the four, Wally and Abigail were the only one's with police records. Wally's rap sheet was a decent size dating back to the summer after seventh grade and listed multiple charges of vandalism, three counts of assault and battery, and one count underage drinking. Abigail only had one count of 'breaking and entering' from her Sophomore year, though no charges were ever pressed.

Hoagie's father, it seemed, was deceased. A decade old blurb in the local newspaper's obituaries read "Hogarth "Hoagie" Pennywhistle Gilligan Sr. passed away…survived by mother Lydia Gilligan, wife Betty Gilligan, two sons Hogarth Gilligan Jr. and Thomas Gilligan," there was no information on the cause of death. It seemed Hoagie had also won several prestigious awards for junior contests in aerodynamics and robotics. Nigel smirked, impressed but not surprised, at that discovery.

There was a small article in the human interests section of the local newspaper about Kuki's starring role in last year's high school production of Miss Saigon. Of the cast, she was the only one to receive a stunning review. "Astounding, beautiful, moving…" the article read, "This young actress captures Kim's emotions perfectly…one almost wonders if she herself has experienced being abandoned by a lover…" Nigel also found that Kani Sanban, apparently Kuki's father, was a renowned novelist. His last book, _Crab in the Snow_, was on the New York Times bestseller list.

Now, as the night was almost over and morning fast approaching, Nigel had not gotten any sleep. As usual. He scowled, cursing insomnia, while opening his email account to find a new message from his cousin, Sawyer Diez. The two had met in England on the visit to their dying grandmother; her father was his mother's long lost brother. The families had been driven apart by a now forgotten feud. They had grown rather close after the reunion and she'd somehow become his confidant. He'd sent her a lengthy rant about the dreams that had been plaguing him since his return to America and her message was most likely a response.

As Nigel clicked the link to open the e-mail, his cell phone lit up, vibrating loudly to announce a call. Without removing his eyes from the screen, he flipped open the device and distantly grumbled a, "Hello?"

"Wow. This is really your number," came the awed response. Nigel blinked, startled.

"Hoagie?" he asked, surprised his reluctant partner in this strange investigation would call, then haughtily, "Of course it's really my number. Why would it not be?"

"I don't know," Hoagie answered, and Nigel could picture the shrug that came along with those words, "It just wouldn't be the first time someone purposely gave me the wrong number."

Nigel sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, and patiently questioned, "What is it, Hoagie? Why have you called?" then perking slightly, "Have you remembered something? Maybe a meaning behind those numbers?"

"Uh…no," Hoagie murmured, there came a shuffling as if he were repositioning himself, "I can't sleep. Again. And I was feeling lonely. So I thought to myself…who else would be up at this hour that could entertain me? And then I remembered…_you_! I'm guessing since you answered your phone and didn't demand if I knew what time it was, you can't sleep either."

A smile creased the Brit's weary face. He was finding it hard to get angry with this boy. Exasperated, yes. He crossed the room to plop on his bed and leaned back against the headboard.

"A good assumption," he told the other boy, "So, how did your 'plans' go today?"

"What plans…oh, those plans. Um…alright. I guess," Hoagie stammered. There was more movement and then a loud thunk that caused Nigel to wince, shuffling again, and then the other boy whispered hastily, "Sorry, dropped the phone. You still there?"

"Yes," Nigel snapped, ear ringing, "What in the blazes are you doing?"

"Building," Hoagie explained, "I was in fifth period picking spitballs out of my hair – don't ask – when EUREKA! I realized with a few minor tweaks in shape I could shorten the wingspan, and lower wind resistance without losing control if I split the tail and tilt the rudder…"

"Hoagie," Nigel interrupted, trying to remain calm, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"My remote control jet," was the response just short of a 'duh', "Well…the new one that I'm building, anyhow. It's going to be so awesome!"

"You're building a jet?" Nigel exclaimed, "That is so…"

"I know, lame, but like I said I'm a nerd," Hoagie interjected, sounding pitiful, before rapidly changing the subject, "Hey…what do you do all night when you can't sleep? I'm guessing you don't just stare at the ceiling and count sheep."

Nigel took a moment to carefully choose his response. He didn't exactly want to come out and admit that he was nosing through the other boy's personal life.

"Research," the Brit finally said vaguely, adding, "Did you know that most dreams are experienced during the phase of sleep scientists call 'Rapid Eye Movement' or 'REM'?"

"Yes," Hoagie answered candidly, the background noise of him bustling about halted, "Dreams, huh? You know, we never really talked about the whole dream thing, all I know is that we both can't sleep because of them. So, Mr. Uno," the boy cleared his throat and put on a mocking tone, "What do you dream about?"

Brow drawing together, Nigel turned his head up to the ceiling. He'd never really discussed it with anyone, not even going into details in his email to Sawyer.

"I don't really remember them," he admitted, "No images, not even the gist of what happens in them. It's just…a feeling," he shook his head angrily and frowned, "Everything is just a feeling. Do you ever feel as though something great and important rests upon your shoulders? That the decisions you make will alter the course of…well of something…?"

"Nope."

Nigel frowned, muttering, "Forget it."

They were both silent a long moment.

"My brain never stops," Hoagie finally spoke up. Nigel quirked a brow at that.

"I don't think that's a bad thing."

"No, I mean, it _never_ stops," Hoagie pressed, "It's what keeps me awake at night. I _do_ remember my dreams, by the way, if I ever do get to sleep. Just images though, nothing else really. Trust me, the images are enough. It's like the same thing flashing over and over…a school bus, the moon, a 2x4 plank of wood…"

"Wood? Like a room made out of wood? Like in a cabin or…" Nigel interrupted.

"A tree house," they both suggested in unison.

"That was cool," Hoagie laughed and Nigel shook his head, smiling to himself. Seriousness took the other boy's voice again, "No. Just a plank. What about…odd objects? Like a bazooka that shoots orange juice? Or a mustard gun?"

"Don't see what the practicality would be. Do you ever think about…battle tactics? Like, for instance, how to arrange a…team perhaps…to defend against a…ahem…turnip attack?"

"Battle tactics? Turnip attacks? Can't say that I ever have…though I do often find myself wondering how to best turn the toaster into a projectile weapon."

"That is weird," Nigel murmured thoughtfully, sitting up in his bed again.

"I know…breakfast conversation is awkward in my house."

"No, I mean…do you not see a pattern?"

"Well…let me see…orange juice bazooka…mustard gun…attacking turnips…oh, hey, I got it!" Hoagie cried excitedly, "Food! Wait a minute…hey! Maybe I was a little overweight as a kid but I don't spend all my time thinking about eating! The school bus, not edible."

Nigel slapped his forehead.

"No, Hoagie," he hissed, "Have you not noticed how fixated our thoughts seem to be on battle?"

"Okay, okay, so we're shining examples of the violent male psyche. Big deal. We've still got bupkas when it comes to sorting out this mishegas. Let's face it, Nige, we're psycho. I say we not drag any more poor souls into this mess and just leave the other three alone."

"And I say we confront them tomorrow about it."

"Well that's a horrible idea."

"Only because you don't want to do it."

"Point _being_?"

"You called me for a reason, Hoagie," Nigel started.

"Yes. Which I clearly explained. Can't sleep. Lonely. Need conversation to pass the time. Never once did I mention that I was seeking means to further alienate my high school peers."

"You asked about the dreams," Nigel pointed out, "You want answers, Hoagie, same as I do. Which means you're starting to accept that something more is going on here. You suggested a tree house…why?"

Hoagie was silent a moment before sighing resignedly, "I have a blueprint of a tree house. A really weird, tricked out tree house."

"Really?" Nigel cried, incredulous, "Can I see it?"

"No. It's not a physical blueprint," Hoagie muttered, "It's in my mind. It was the first thing…no…never mind."

"Tell me."

"No, because you're going to think it supports your paranoid theory that we're part of some strange food battle conspiracy and you'll never let up on the whole 'we must have a really awkward conversation with Abby and the others' plan."

"Hoagie." Nigel groaned, "I'm not going to let up either way."

"Oi vey. You really won't, will you? Ugh…fine, all right. But try not to overanalyze it," Hoagie moaned, "My childhood is like a dream. All fuzzy and weird."

"Mine, as well."

"Figures. It's not a big deal though, most everyone's is," Hoagie went on, "Anyhow the first clear memory I have, was my thirteenth birthday. It was late at night, and I felt like I'd just woken from a dream. I was outside, I don't even remember why, and I can't remember how I spent the day at all. I just remember my grandmother yelling at me to get my kiester inside and take my gifts upstairs."

"You don't remember how you spent your birthday?"

"I was about as popular then as I am now. I don't think I had a party," Hoagie elucidated. Nigel just listened with his brow furrowed as the other boy continued, "Next thing I know, wham, bam, I'm crashing on the ground with a splitting headache and I've got a blueprint in my mind, of an amazing tree house. I'm talking lasers, canons, a kitchen, a hangar, satellite TV, and, oi, did that brainchild hurt. Then it was like a dam bursting open and all these images flooding my mind and suddenly these three kids I don't remember ever even talking to are standing out in the crowd making my headaches _worse_," he took a deep breath, "Now do you see why I didn't want to tell you?"

"Today at lunch we'll talk to Kuki."

"_What? _No way! Augh, see! I knew this was going to happen," Hoagie whined, "I never should have told you anything. No way, man. That is the stupidest, most ridiculous idea ever!"

"Three years ago," Nigel stated calmly, "I saw a room made out of wood. With monitors, a podium, a couch. And five numbers. Then I moved back to England and never saw it again until I returned here."

Hoagie swallowed hard. After a moment, he said, "I'll make a deal with you. If you meet Abigail Lincoln…if you see her, and experience everything, same as the rest of them, then we talk to them. But Abby first."

Nigel made a face, mulled things over in his mind. The coincidences were too numerous to ignore but the differences in their experiences, in the things they saw, and the emotions it stirred, were confusing and cast a certain amount of doubt. He wondered, would it really mean anything if he didn't pick up the 'familiar stranger' vibe from Abigail?

"Alright," he announced, "You have a deal."

-1-2-3-4-5-

Kuki awoke in a cold sweat, clutching her blankets to her slim shuddering form, tears streaming down her cheeks. The cold chill of the night air billowing through her open window. She searched out her bed for a soft, cuddly form only to realize, devastatingly, that she no longer owned any Rainbow Monkeys to comfort her in the night. She bit back a sob and climbed out of bed, making her way to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face.

Hands pressed against the counter, face dripping wet and bangs damp, Kuki glared at her reflection. She grimaced, white-hot pain burning her brain.

"Not again," she whimpered. Dreams, always the same dreams, "How many times do I have to say good-bye?"

Inside the bedroom came a small repetitive screech. With a sigh, Kuki stumbled to her bedside, warily flicking the alarm clock off. She ran fingers through her long hair and wrapped her arms about herself, looking anxiously around the room. An early morning gray had settled through her windows, dimly lighting her things.

The room was organized, pastel colored, with girly accents of lace and ribbon. There were no toys to speak of, no stuffed animals or dolls. Not since she'd reached adolescence. Images lined her walls of beautiful locations; Japanese cities, the Eiffel tower at night, beaches in Venice, the Sydney Opera house, and the Phil Harmonic, even an overhead shot of the Amazon rainforest. There were also posters from different plays and musicals, Phantom of the Opera, A Streetcar Named Desire, Cats, King Lear and West Side Story were just a few. On her desk and dressers were framed photos of friends and family.

The bookshelves were lined with plays and poetry anthologies, some Japanese novels in their original kanji format such as Hotaru no Haka, and imported manga from Japan; titles like Bokura ga Ita and Ayashi no Ceres. As a child, Kuki had always wanted happy endings but she'd found herself in teenage years more and more drawn to tragedy. It was her own dirty secret. The cheeriest girl at Willem High sought sorrow.

Downstairs, Kuki could hear her mother preparing for the workday. She could also smell coffee and sausage cooking on the griddle. Her stomach lurched protest. Apparently eating breakfast that morning was not in the cards. Crossing the room, she peered distantly into a cage; a fluffy gray and white hamster stared back as it cleaned its muzzle.

"Morning, Chubbo," Kuki greeted in soft whisper. The hamster paused, crawled to the cage edge and perched its claws on the wire wall, sniffing interestedly at the smiling Japanese girl.

Popping the cage open, Kuki replenished the food as Chubbo nipped fondly at her fingers. She gave him a couple strokes between the ears, and closed the cage door once again.

From the closet, Kuki retrieved a short-sleeved lilac blouse and white Bermuda shorts. She dressed while humming to herself to help fight the bile rising in the back of her throat as the reek of eggs scrambling joined the scent of sausage. She brushed out her hair and folded it into a loose braid, baby strands framing her oval face. After one last look in the mirror, she headed downstairs. She passed her father in a tattered crimson bathrobe gripping a steaming cup of lavender tea in his hand, and heading upwards.

"To-san, what are you doing up? You never wake up this early in the morning," Kuki noted perkily. Her father just gave her a bleary look, his eyes drooping and rimmed red.

"Early? Early!" the cranky Japanese man yelled haughtily, "It is not early, it is late! I am…"

"Kani," Kuki's mother screamed from the kitchen, and the ranting man faltered. He glared groggily at his daughter, leaning forward to press a kiss to her forehead.

"Going to bed," he muttered, before trudging up the stairs, Kuki watching baffled for a moment, before heading into the kitchen.

Genki Sanban was busily cooking breakfast for her two daughters, dressed in a neatly pressed business suit, an apron draped over her neck. As she leaned over the stove one foot lifted daintily off the ground, slipper dangling precariously off her toes. Her black tresses were tightly curled up into a bun; burgundy glasses neatly perched upon her nose. Her make-up was light, almost non-existent, save for the carefully applied red lipstick. She glanced to Kuki and offered up a slight smile.

"Ohayo, Ku-chan," the older woman greeted, plating the eggs and turning off the stove.

"Ohayo, kaa-san," Kuki replied softly.

Genki crossed the room, cupping her daughter's face and giving her a quick peck on the lips before moving to set the table with breakfast; sausage, eggs, rice, and fresh strawberries.

"Don't worry about your father, he was up all night again. Your medicine is on the counter," she called over her shoulder.

Kuki sighed, the little white pills were neatly laid out on a napkin with a cup of water beside them. She popped them in her mouth and took a gulp from the cup. Her other dirty secret, the antidepressants she'd been prescribed nearly two years ago. She sighed wondering at the things her friends at school would think if only they knew. Genki was at Kuki's side again; mother's hand pressed to daughter's forehead, concern shimmering in ebony eyes.

"Ku-chan, daijobu?"

"Oh…ha…hai," Kuki flustered, gently pushing her mother away and taking a seat at the table, "I had a little trouble sleeping. Bad dream. But I'm okay now. Is to-san working on another book?"

Her mother gave her a surveying look but made no comment, instead turning to make a cup of coffee, answering nonchalantly, "I don't know. He tells me nothing."

Kuki's younger sister, Mushi bounded down the stairs then, entering the kitchen with a flourish; her hair swept up into twin buns. She was dressed in a gingham pleated skirt, white polo, and knee high socks; pink Rainbow Monkey slippers on her feet.

"Ohayo, Mushi-chan," Genki called out.

"Oh, how cute," Kuki squealed, "I love your hair!" Mushi did a twirl, giggling and grinning toothily.

"Ohayo, kaa-san! Thank you, Kuki, you look _really _cute too" Mushi replied, all sugary sweet, hopping into her chair across from the elder Sanban sister. Their mother took a seat at the head of the table with her coffee mug.

"Itadakimasu!"

They all ate in relatively good moods, keeping their conversation light and cheerful. Kuki merely pushed the food about her plate, nibbling on some of the white rice and not even bothering with the eggs or sausage. She knew her mother noticed but was thankful the older woman didn't question it. After all, her medication did affect her appetite sometimes.

"Mushi-chan, do you need a ride to school today?" the girls' mother queried.

"Oh, no," Mushi declined, grinning behind a forkful of egg and rice, "Sandy is picking me up today. He's going to take me to school on his bike."

Kuki hid her eyes rolling behind a raised cup. She wiped her mouth with a napkin, pushing the plate of mostly uneaten food away and announced, "I have to get going. It's my turn to drive the girls to school today. Thank you for the food, kaa-san."

Taking the plate to the sink and rinsing it off, Kuki headed upstairs to brush her teeth. Applying some lip-gloss, she headed downstairs again; slipping on a pair of white flats at the door and shouldering her book bag she called out, "Ittekimasu!"

"Itterasshai," came her mother's response from the kitchen. Kuki quietly shut the door behind her.

For Christmas last year, Kuki had received a convertible VW Beetle, light green with a black top and interior. She was delighted as it meant no more borrowing her father's car and because the bug was adorable. There were a few cutesy bumper stickers on the car's rear, and the interior was decorated with butterfly floor mats and steering wheel cover. A few small stuffed animals lined the back window, her last remaining Rainbow Monkey, an orange one, amongst them.

Patty lived close to Fanny, so she simply walked to the Fulbrite home in the morning. Which meant Kuki only had to make one stop on the way to school. Patty didn't have a driver's license, something about her parents not thinking she was responsible enough, but she provided the two drivers with gas money. Coming upon the Fulbrite's large abode, she gave a small honk of the horn and it wasn't long before her two friends exited the house and rushed to hop in her vehicle.

The girls immediately started talking about Homecoming as Kuki drove towards Willem High. It wasn't for a few more weekends but Patty was eagerly telling Fanny about a dress she saw that she thought would look perfect on the redhead.

"Ricky hasn't even mentioned the dance yet," Fanny admitted.

"Well that's not like him," Patty murmured, startled, "He's usually very excited about these formal gatherings, isn't he?"

"Yes," Fanny muttered, flopping back in her seat with her arms crossed over her chest. She'd straightened her curls that morning, as she did everyday now, and slicked the hair back into a ponytail.

"He'll ask eventually, though," Patty assured the other girl, then with a soft smirk, "Who are you hoping will ask you to the dance, Kuki?"

Dark eyes met in the rearview mirror, then Kuki's attention was on the road again.

"Ah…I don't know," she started.

"Ace, of course," Fanny cut in, "You two always go together and you're always the most perfect couple at the dance."

"There's no one else you'd want to go with?" Patty pressed, "Someone else…with _an accent_, perhaps?"

Kuki tightened her grip on the wheel, blushing. She saw a blond boy in her mind that spoke with a gruff Australian inflection but shook that image quickly away. She couldn't imagine him wanting to go to a school dance let alone with her on his arm. Patty didn't know about him, anyhow. Then she remembered Nigel Uno, the older facsimile of a boy who'd always worn sunglasses. Perhaps that was whom the mousy brunette was talking about. He was attractive enough, nice and polite. Bald, but it wasn't unpleasant on him.

"I don't know, Patty. Nigel seems like a good guy but I think he was more interested in _Lizzie_ than me," she giggled.

"Nigel?" Fanny questioned, somewhat disgusted, "What are you thinking, Patty? Nigel is all wrong for Kuki. Ace is the right man for her. And you know, Kooks, the sooner you wake up and realize that, the sooner we can double date!"

"I don't know…" Patty whispered, eyes gazing softly out her passenger window, "Never mind. Forget I said anything, I suppose."

"What about you, Patty?" Kuki questioned, glancing the brunette in the rearview mirror, "Do you have anyone you'd like to take you to Homecoming?"

Patty visibly blushed at that, her body going rigid. Fanny turned in the chair to look back at their shy friend with a devious smile.

"It looks like Patty has a crush," the redhead teased, then excitedly, "You have to tell us who!"

"I don't have a crush," Patty stammered, covering her face with a hand, "I don't plan on going to homecoming."

"_What_?" the other two girls cried in unison.

"How can you not want to go to Homecoming?" Fanny demanded, "You've been talking about it since ice cream yesterday! Picking out dresses for Kuki and I, telling us how you think we should wear our hair. For crying out loud, Patty, you damn well better be coming to Homecoming with us. Because if you expect me to jump through all those hoops to look pretty for the night you'd better be right there jumping with me!"

"It's not because of your crush, is it?" Kuki asked, wide-eyed and innocent from the front, "Do you think he won't ask you out or something?"

"I just don't want to go," Patty muttered, eyes still locked out the window at passing stores, "Can we drop it?"

Fanny gave a 'hmph', turning forward in her seat again and Kuki frowned somewhat. They pulled into Willem High School and Kuki parked the car. As they climbed out, Fanny spied her pretty boyfriend across the lot chatting with Brand. He waved to her, motioning her to come over. She flustered, waving slightly and her friends smiled knowingly.

"Oh, go over," Patty urged, "Don't waste your time with us."

"I don't know," Fanny mumbled, chewing on her thumbnail, "He's been talking about some musical showing at the theater house…'Oklahoma!'…he keeps mentioning wanting to go see it this weekend."

"'Oklahoma!'," Kuki squeaked excitedly, "Oh, I love that one. He can get tickets? I'm so jealous! I've heard their rendition of 'People Will Say We're in Love' is _amazing_."

Fanny rolled her eyes, "Yes. Well. After listening to singing pirates all last Friday night, and then watching Romeo kill himself for a girl he met and married in three days the Saturday before that, and then having to put up with that ridiculous one with the old man and bride switching bodies a few days before that, oh…and don't even get me started on the one about hairspray!"

"Hairspray?" Kuki queried with a wrinkled nose.

"_Yes_, that one," Fanny spat disgustedly, "I cannot sit through another musical, play, _whatever_ this weekend."

"Really?" Kuki cried dubiously, "I wish I'd been to that many productions this summer! If you really don't want to go do you think maybe Ricky would take me to see 'Oklahoma!'?"

"Isn't it worth it, though?" Patty spoke up, "Just to be with someone who loves you?"

The redhead sighed, folding her arms over her chest and shaking her head. She muttered, "I guess." She snorted lightly then and let a smile crease her features, "He does tell me what a cultured lady I am going to the theater house with him. Most girls won't do that, you know?"

"I would," Kuki whimpered. Fanny shot her a strange look and she bit out, "What? I love the theater!"

"He says all girls want to do is go to movies and concerts, or the mall to 'hang out' or somewhere private to make-out. Not very ladylike," Fanny went on, she sighed, "I suppose I should go over there. I'll see you girls in homeroom, then?"

"Yup," Kuki piped and Patty nodded, "Have fun."

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Patty teased. Fanny just shot her a light-hearted glare, before heading off towards her boyfriend. He gave her a passionate kiss when she approached that turned her entire face a red as bright as her hair.

Patty and Kuki looked to one another and burst into giggles. The raven-haired girl entwined her hand with the brunette's and they walked up towards the school with arms swinging merrily.

"I bet the football team is in practice right now," Kuki mused, "You want to go make faces at Patton while he drills the boys?"

"Well…I'll go with you…but I don't really want to make funny faces," Patty sheepishly replied. Kuki covered a giggle at her friend's embarrassment.

"That's okay, I'll make faces and you can throw things at the team when they're not looking! Deal?"

Patty put a hand over her smile and nodded, "Deal."

Together they walked to the back of the school but the field was empty. The area seemed entirely deserted, no students in sight. The girls wandered down to the bottom of the bleachers, looking across the low-clipped grass as a light breeze tousled their hair.

Kuki groaned in disappointment, throwing her arms up in the air, "Well that's just great! I had a good funny face ready too. He would have laughed for certain!"

"Kuki," Patty whispered and the Asian turned to her friend. The brunette looked pale, afraid, her eyes wide and alert, shooting glances about the dark area under the bleachers. Kuki stiffened, looking around as well with concern.

"What's the matter?" she questioned.

There came a loud bang from behind them and the girls startled, looking for the source of the noise. Nothing. A sound of feet hastily moving across grass. They spun round again. No one.

"We should go," Patty pressed, grabbing at Kuki's hand and tugging her back up towards the school.

"Oh, calm down, silly," Kuki giggled, "Someone's just messing with us…probably." She pulled out of the brunette's reach, wandering under the bleachers despite her friend's protests, "Hello? Who's there?"

Underneath the bleachers was covered mostly in shadows with streams of light filtering through gaps. The bleachers themselves were built stadium style, coming up against a cement wall, leading up to the school and reaching down to the field. Kuki brushed her hand against each metal pillar she passed, Patty latched tightly to her arm.

A shadow cut across the corner of their eyes, the girls glanced. Scraping of metal and the sound of someone shuffling around them. Fabric rippling. Breathing.

"Hello…?" Kuki called out again, less certain.

"Let's go," Patty whispered pleadingly by her side, "Please, Kooks, can we please just go."

Another loud bang of metal on metal, not far away. They both jumped, looked around.

"Yeah," Kuki agreed, rushing them towards the exit.

So close to the edge of the bleachers. A noise like someone running after them grated in their ears. A screech, heavy breathing, warm on their skin. The hair on the back of their neck standing on end. Out in the open, nowhere left to run. The girls spun round, ready to face an attacker.

Something brushed against Kuki's shoulder and before she had time to register the, "Excuse me…", she let out a high-pitched battle cry and her imagined assailant was suddenly flying over her head to land with an unceremonious crash on his backside before both stunned girls.

Suddenly on knees, hands covering gaping mouth, Kuki leaned over the poor soul she'd thrown to the ground, espousing, "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! I'm so sorry."

"Ah…what the crud is your fu…?" the boy demanded angrily only to falter as his eyes, squeezed shut in pain, popped open and took in the figure hovering over him.

Glinting green caught shimmering ebony and both teens flustered. Kuki pulled away, though remaining on her knees at his side, eyes shadowed with uncertainty and concern. The injured young man began to sit up.

"K…" he started, choking on the word and clearing his throat. He rubbed the back of his head, obscuring his facial features beneath long golden bangs, "Uh…nice toss."

"I really didn't mean to do that. Are you okay?" she asked, watching as he pulled himself to his feet then standing as well.

"um…me…yeah," he stammered, not really looking to her, then folding his arms over his chest and in a gruff voice, "I've taken worse beatings. So…ah…did I do something to piss you off or…?"

"What?" Kuki furrowed her brow, then in realization, "_What_? Oh, no. No, no. Um…you see…we heard this noise and…we thought you were…well…I don't know what we thought but…uh…you're Wallabee, right?"

Green eyes flashed before hiding again.

"Yeah," he confirmed, shifting nervously, he muttered astonished, "Didn't think someone like you would know who I was…"

"Of course I know who you are, silly," Kuki started with her usual nonchalant, before catching the way both Patty and Wallabee looked strangely at her. She flushed and quickly added, "…oh….uh…last year you got in trouble for running that fight group thing in the school basement. Everyone was talking about it."

Wally turned his face, unreadable, towards the distant field, grumbling, "Yeah. That was me."

"Why are you down here?" Patty finally spoke, her voice soft and eyes downcast. She had loosened her grip on Kuki's arm and seemed to almost be hiding behind the dark haired girl.

"Huh?" Wally seemed caught off guard by the question but before he could answer a solidly built form stepped in front of the girls, a warm hand wrapping protectively around Kuki's wrist and startling the Australian.

The Japanese girl started, "Ace…what are…?"

"Why are you bothering these girls?" a rough Hispanic inflection cut her off. Kuki froze at the way Ace had his eyes fixed on the blond boy, dangerous narrow slits. She thought of their argument the day before. _I can't forgive him._

"Ace," she whispered, reassuringly, "We were just talking..."

Wally's focus seemed to be on the other boy's hand, gently yet firmly holding the pretty Asian. He took a step back, shoving tightly balled fists deep into pockets and letting his hair fall into his face.

"It's alright, 'mate'. I was just leaving," he bit out.

"What? You don't have to go…" Kuki began, wavering when, for only a second, green eyes locked with her own ebony orbs.

As the Aussie strolled past up towards the school, she could've sworn the corner of his mouth had twitched into a smirk. Her heart thudded heavily in her chest. When the blond was out of sight, Ace turned to face the girls.

"Did he do anything to you? Did he say anything?" Ace demanded, features awash with concern that turned to confusion as Kuki ripped her arm from his grasp.

"No," she spat, the fire in her eyes stunning both her friends into stepping back, "He was just talking to us, _Carlos_."

"Kuki," Ace whimpered, slightly shaken by her outburst, "I couldn't be certain…"

"So? Who do you think you are, anyway?" Kuki demanded haughtily, tears of frustration dotting her eyes, "You had no right to treat him like that!"

"You don't even know the guy," Ace pointed out, disconcerted. Kuki was taken aback at that. She wrapped her arms around herself, face falling. That's right. She didn't know Wally Beatles. She bit her lower lip and fixed the Hispanic boy with a hard glare.

"Well, neither do you," she replied in a low hiss, turning away and hastily making her way up towards the school, Patty followed behind, glancing back once to the speechless Ace with an intensely dark glower.

* * *

AN: I'm so excited. That scene between Wally and Kuki was one I had in mind when I first started this story and I thought I had to scrap it and then I got to use it, so I'm very happy. Also, I really, really, really wanted to give Kuki a VW Rabbit, because I like the name of the car. But I just couldn't get past the aesthetic of the vehicle, I couldn't picture her in one. If you want to know what one looks like, google it. I hope you'll all agree that she looks way better in a bug.

I put off showing Kuki's homelife for so long because I wasn't certain how "Japanese" I wanted to make her family. I think you can see what I decided. So yeah, for those of you unfamiliar with Japanese culture and terms:

to-san is father, kaa-san is mother, -chan is a suffix added to a name for small children or close girl friends that denotes endearment, Ohayo is good morning, itadakimasu is a type of 'thanks for the food' said before eating, ittekimasu is sort of 'good bye for the day' and ittaresshai is the proper response, daijobu is "OK" spoken like a question it becomes "Are you ok?". Shoes are never worn in the house - major no-no (technically not in any buildings, they have outdoor shoes and indoor shoes for school and work), and rice goes with everything. _Everything_. I think that's it.

I thought to just call her Kuki-chan, but I thought Ku-chan sounded cuter and dropping the 'ki' seemed like something a Japanese person would do. Reading material, Hotaru no Haka is translated as "Grave of the Fireflies"; a post WWII novel, Bokura ga Ita is translated as "We Were There" and it is a major tear jerker, Ayashi no Ceres is sold just under that title, for anyone who wants to check any of those out.

Last, Hoagie uses some yiddish terms that he picked up from his g-ma.

That's all, I think. Gosh, I'm tired. I'm going to go pass out. Hope you enjoyed this chappie! Things are going to move pretty quickly into the action and drama soon, I hope.


	10. Chapter 9

AN: Sorry it took so long you guys. We're slammed at work right now...man, I wonder how I'm going to be able to work on this when classes start...

* * *

Chapter 9:

Abby was startled in the morning as she headed downstairs for breakfast, per her usual routine, to receive a phone call from her father.

"Sorry, I been swamped at the hospital all night, haven't had the chance to call," Dr. Lincoln apologized.

"It's okay, daddy, I understand. I didn't get home until real late anyway. Newspaper stuff."

"That's my little editor. Did you get dinner alright?" he questioned, "Eat something healthy with the vegetables, and the grains, and the main food groups and…ah…you know what I mean!"

"Yes, daddy," Abby told her father calmly, rolling her eyes and taking a seat at the table to begin breakfast, "What have you been at the hospital all night for? I thought you only had ten hours of clinic duty yesterday."

"Strange case came in," Dr. Lincoln explained, "Little boy, completely catatonic at arrival. He seems to be awake and aware and all now but he's acting all funny so we sent him in for an MRI…then another one came in."

"Another what?" Abby queried, reporter in her taking over, "Another kid?"

"Yeah. Same neighborhood, little girl a couple houses down from the first boy," her father confirmed, "Very odd. She wasn't catatonic but she's acting just like the boy now. Talking strange, staring off into space, won't say anything unless you ask them a question. Won't even move unless you tell them to do something! Like they don't have minds of their own. At least she didn't have one of them slimy bug things on her though…"

"Bug things? One of what bug things?"

"Oh boy, I shouldn't have mentioned that," Dr. Lincoln groaned inwardly at the slip-of-tongue most likely brought on by fatigue. He donned his rare authoritative father tone, "Now, Abigail, you listen to me, this isn't a story. You forget I said anything. Hospital hasn't even decided if we're going to contact CDC about this, yet. We're waiting for test results back on the kids, or for changes in behavior."

"CDC?" Abigail squeaked, a bit more excitedly than she'd intended as the well-being of two young children was at stake. She couldn't help it though, her hometown was usually so boring, "The hospital administrator thinks this - whatever _this_ is - is big enough to warrant calling in the Center for Disease Control? No _way_! Daddy, you have to give me _something_."

"Abigail," Dr. Lincoln growled warning that made his tough-as-nails daughter shrink back from the phone. She'd never heard her 'daddy' so serious before.

"Is it really that bad?" she whispered softly.

Dr. Lincoln sighed. She could picture him standing in his office at the hospital, still in his scrubs and lab coat, massaging his forehead. There would be a cup of coffee, which he wasn't supposed to be drinking but was mostly untouched anyhow, sitting on his desk amidst scattered papers. The breaking dawn would be streaming through his window.

"I've never seen anything like this…it's almost like these poor kids' brains are fried," he mumbled, "And I have a terrible feeling that more kids will be coming in. I just…don't know what to do."

"If it was some kind of bug…maybe a toxin?" Abby carefully suggested, worry for her father edging her tone. He was a good doctor, one of the best on staff at Memorial, because he was one of the few who didn't care about the money or the prestige of the job. He cared about saving and curing patients. She knew how hard he took it whenever he failed. Her mother was the only one capable of soothing the man in such a rare instance but Mrs. Lincoln was away on business in Europe for the next week and a half.

"We're exploring that option," Dr. Lincoln replied, "But the little bug-thing that we had was squished."

"Squished? How did that happen?"

"Startled mother."

"Oh," Abby frowned, nibbling at her breakfast, peanut butter on celery sticks.

"I've been consulting with an entomologist at the University, but she says she's never heard of anything like it before," Dr. Lincoln continued with a weary sigh, "I guess I'll just have to wait and see what the tests reveal. I might not be home tonight, sweetheart, you'll be okay for dinner?"

"Don't even worry about it, daddy," Abigail assured her father, "You just take care of those kids."

"That's my girl," Dr. Lincoln told her softly. Abigail smiled faintly, sipping at her usual cup of coffee. Mature and understanding, that was the good doctor's little girl. She thought about picking up Chinese take-out that night, maybe a dessert of ice cream while curled up on the couch in a blanket watching _Casablanca _or _His Girl Friday_.

"Love ya', daddy."

"Love you too, baby girl. Have a good day at school."

Abby put the phone away and finished her breakfast in silence. She thought about what her father told her. An odd illness possibly caused by an unidentified insect. He had ordered her to stay away, warned her it wasn't a story. He'd sounded serious too. Abby smirked as she headed out the door for class.

For anyone else, finding out what street those two children had lived on would probably seem difficult, daunting, and, on top of a parental warning, not worth the risk. For Abigail Lincoln it took one phone call. After convincing the front clerk at the Memorial Hospital Clinic that she was Officer Fife from the local police department, she easily procured the full names of both children and their addresses. She pulled in to the school, and parked her car, staring at the little notepad attached to her dash that she'd jotted the information on.

The problem with information was the moral dilemma it always presented. Gaining it was easy, deciding what to do with it not so much. Dr. Lincoln was always encouraging of his daughters and son even when Abigail proved to be most troublesome. He stood proudly beside her when bailing her out of the county jailhouse several months back. She'd been locked in a holding cell for the night after being caught breaking into a downtown warehouse. He'd supported her not just because she did it for the story but because it was the right thing to do. And because it turned out they really were counterfeiting rare Rainbow Monkey dolls in that industrial building. Her father never told her to stay away from something, never told her to leave it be, and to not follow her investigative instincts. Until now.

Could she really go behind his back?

Leaving the pad of paper in her car, Abby headed for the school building. As usual, she was there before most students, the hallways nearly devoid of life. She weaved her way through the halls towards the Journalism room, nearly stopping dead in her tracks when a conversation around the corner hit her ears.

"Report of…slugs…shouldn't be now," a voice was saying in a rough whisper.

"…certain?" came the response, low and terse.

"…the information…wrong," the first speaker replied, sounding almost angry.

Abigail continued quietly down the hall and was surprised when Whistler came into view with his back to her.

"No. Just incomplete," the pudgy handyman was saying to his co-conspirator, a boy with bright crimson hair.

Redhead fixed his eyes on the approaching Abby like twin blue laser points causing Whistler to pause in whatever else he had to say and turn to face her as well. A smile lightened his features but Abby hadn't missed the hard lines that had creased the sophomore's face moments before. Abby turned her attention on the redhead. She had to admit his glare was intimidating, but she had never backed down from anyone in her life and was not about to start now.

"Mackerel Herring," she greeted coolly, "You know, you've got a fishy name."

Mack snorted lightly, rolling his eyes and muttering sarcastically, "Yeah, I never heard that one before."

"Hey, samurai," Whistler spoke up, he glanced over his shoulder to Mack, dismissively telling him, "We'll talk about this later."

Mack narrowed his eyes at the younger boy and Abigail could feel the tension thick between the two.

"I'd prefer we talk about this _now_," the redhead hissed, darting a furtive glance Abby's way.

"I can go," Abby suggested, a bit more nervously than she liked, "I didn't really mean to interrupt anything…"

"No, our conversation was just ending. Mack has other things to do," Whistler cut her off, seeming oblivious to or to just simply disregard the threat in the other boy's words. Turning his eyes back on the redhead, he said, "Right, Mack?"

The piercing blue eyes dropped to the floor, though Mack's features darkened. He muttered, "Yeah. Right." Without another word or so much as a glance at the other two teens, the redhead trudged away.

"Making friends with Mack probably isn't in your best interest," Abby warned Whistler after the redhead was well out of hearing range. The boy just smiled, shaking his head and gathering his dreadlocks in a hand to brush from his face.

"The guy is harmless," he laughed, "But you don't need to worry. I wouldn't exactly call him a friend. I was helping him with a…uh…game. He was talking about how he couldn't beat one level and…well…I've already mastered the game because…I'm good at games and…I…uh…is there a way I can end this explanation without sounding anymore like a complete and total nerd."

Abby shook her head, giggling behind a hand.

"No. But I don't mind complete and total nerds when they're as sweet as you," she reassured him. He reached out a hand, motioning for her bag, and surprised, she handed it over. He slipped it over his shoulder.

"To the journalism room?" Whistler guessed.

"Oh…yup," Abby grinned sheepishly, "First staff meeting is tonight, I kind of want to make sure everything goes perfectly."

"I got a feeling, samurai," Whistler said, starting forward with Abby falling into step beside him, "Everything you do is perfect."

-5-4-3-2-1-

Dressed in loose jeans and an orange v-neck, Rachel Mckenzie came bounding into her family kitchen just in time to steal a fresh piece of toast from her brother's plate. She was running late, her hair not brushed, and no make-up on her face.

"Hey!" Harvey cried protest, "Get your own!"

With the crispy buttered bread dangling from her mouth, Rachel gathered her hair up into a ponytail, smirking cruelly at her little brother and receiving a light slap on the shoulder from her mother.

"Stop stealing food from your brother," Mrs. Mckenzie chastised then questioned, "Patton picking you up today?"

A car horn honked loudly outside in answer.

The older woman rolled her eyes, saying, "Could you tell him our bell works fine so he can feel free to come to the door next time."

Rachel swallowed her bite of toast, tossing the rest back on Harvey's plate, earning more of his protest, and grinned toothily at her mother. She opened the refrigerator to grab a water bottle and apple.

"Yeah, then I'll tell him to tuck in his shirt and brush his hair. What am I, his mother?" Rachel teased her mom, leaning over to peck the older woman on the cheek.

"No but I know Ruth raised him with better manners that that. I guess I'm just going to have to have a talk with her," Mrs. Mckenzie replied huffily, "Is that what you're eating for breakfast? Rach, you're getting too thin."

Another honk from outside.

"I got to go," Rachel muttered, "He'll do that every five seconds until I get out there."

"Why don't you two take Harvey to school also?" Mrs. Mckenzie asked, taking a cup of coffee to the table with the newspaper.

"No way," Harvey groaned.

"Harvey doesn't like riding in the jeep," Rachel explained, "He doesn't like the feel of the wind on his head." She reached a hand forward to muss the younger boy's hair causing him to jerk away.

"Don't touch me," he screamed. Rachel just rolled her eyes and their mother patted the boy's arm soothingly.

"Fine. I guess I'll just have take him myself," Mrs. Mckenzie sighed.

"Why do you say it like that?. I'm your son," Harvey whined, "You're supposed to want to do things for me."

"I don't remember reading _that_ in my job description," the older woman laughed, swatting at the boy playfully.

Rachel rushed out the front door just as Patton honked his car horn once more, running to hop into his jeep and tossing her book bag in the back. She stuck her tongue out at the dark-haired boy behind the wheel then buckled her seat belt.

"Could you take any longer?" Patton complained to the blonde.

"Would you like me to try?"

"Okay. Forget I said anything."

Patton started the drive to school and Rachel relaxed back in her seat watching the clouds roll by. Honestly, she was with her brother in not really liking the feel of the wind over her head. She had hated when Patton got the jeep, especially since he liked to take it off-roading every opportunity he got, but it wasn't as though she could complain. She didn't have her own vehicle and the jeep was better than riding the bus.

"Second day," Rachel moaned, "Is the week over _yet_?"

"We could always ditch," Patton suggested, receiving a wary glance.

"Suddenly feeling rebellious? I've heard of senioritis but somehow I always thought you would be immune."

"Come on, Rach, nothing important ever happens the first week of school."

"You've never missed a day of school in your entire life, General Drilovsky," Rachel patiently pointed out, "I think if you start now the teachers might send out a search party…file a missing person's report…even call in the national guard."

"You should talk," Patton muttered, "Last I checked your attendance record was as impeccable as mine, Cadet Mckenzie."

Rachel smirked, "Not true. I missed two weeks in second grade. Chicken pox. And here I thought you knew everything about me." She stuck her tongue out at Patton again and he playfully punched her shoulder.

"You're right, though," he sighed in resignation, "The school would raise up an alarm if you and I both skipped out. Hell, they'd probably call the Sarges."

"Yup," Rachel agreed glumly.

The Sarges being, of course, their fathers, both of whom were commanding officers in the U.S. military. It was the reason Rachel and Patton got along so well. Few people at school understood the life. Their childhoods spent moving from place to place, their fathers being away for long periods of time, having to readjust when their fathers, men they didn't really know, were at home.

They continued the drive in comfortable silence. Patton parked in the school lot and scowled.

"There's something I don't need to see so early in the morning," he groaned.

Rachel straightened, following Patton's dark gaze to find what he was talking about. She rolled her eyes telling herself, should've known. The blond boy was an easy miss through the crowd despite his pretty looks and flamboyant outfit but with hair like fire, the young lady at his side stood out. Even from their distance across the lot, Rachel could see the blush on that redhead's cheeks, the way she curled her slender form against the blond in attempt to appear small and meek.

Patton hopped out of the jeep, shouldering his backpack and shaking his head agitatedly. Rachel frowned, remaining in her seat.

"What do you think would embarrass Fulbrite into hightailing it to the nearest classroom faster? A commentary on her boyfriend's peacock costume, or a mention of how similar they look to mating hippopotamuses when they're making out?" Patton questioned, starting towards the school.

"Wouldn't you rather leave them alone," Rachel casually suggested.

"Nope," Patton chirped. He paused, noticing the blonde wasn't moving. Turning he queried, "You coming?"

"To make fun of Ricky and Fanny? Nope. That's all you, bud," Rachel sardonically answered, crossing her arms. Patton took a few steps back to leer down at her.

"Okay. What's your problem?"

"I don't know. Maybe I'm just getting a little sick and tired of your bullshit."

"Excuse you?"

"No. Excuse _you_. It's silly. I was really kind of hoping that, what with being seniors now and looking at adulthood soon, you would finally mature and forego spending the year tugging on Fulbrite's proverbial pigtails every opportunity you got but I forgot you were taught to never surrender," Rachel snidely explained.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Patton demanded in a low hiss, eyes narrowing. Rachel sighed heavily; shaking her head she unraveled herself.

"Nothing. Let's go."

"No, you can't just suddenly go psycho bitch then turn around and act like it didn't happen. I want to know what you meant."

Rachel shook her head. Turning her face upwards to look into Patton's kohl eyes, she cupped his cheeks gently with her hands and put on a soft smile. In a patronizing tone she stated, "Patton, I love you. I really, really do. You're my brother from another mother."

"Right. Well. Cut the crap, sis, and get to the point."

"Ok, fine, I didn't want to have to do this but you asked for it," Rachel cried out, throwing her hands in the air in exasperation, she reeled on the towering teen, "You've been barking at Miss Priss's heels since eighth grade trying to get her attention to no avail and now in less than a year you're going to be at Westpoint to start the military career your parents have been planning for you since Aunt Ruth popped you out seventeen years ago. I would like to be able to tell you to grow up, grow some balls, stop torturing the girl, and just tell her how you feel but I can't because this is one war you can't win!"

"Rachel, what…?" Patton murmured, obviously stunned by the outburst. He leaned forward against his jeep glaring at his friend in slightly miffed confusion.

"Look at who she has on her arm, Patton. Who she has had on her arm for the past three years. I mean, really, _look_ at him. That pretty boy is heading for a glamorous and lucrative career in modeling or acting. He is exactly the kind of eye candy the heiress to a fortune 500 company throne _should_ be wearing on her arm. The rich bitch's perfect accessory."

Patton shook his head, his jaw firm, mouth pulled taut and face twisted in a grimace, "Rachel, you don't know what…"

"But for the fun of it," the blonde interjected, bitingly, "Let's say a miracle happens – now this is a huge long shot, I'm talking a once in a googolplex type scenario – but let's just pretend an earth shattering miracle happens and she suddenly wakes up and realizes she's got a tool hanging off her arm and then let's say you stop acting like a jerk long enough for her to see what a really great guy you are. What then? She becomes the dutiful, modest wife of a military man?"

Patton was silent.

"You just have to face facts, bud," Rachel continued solemnly, "You're never going to have what it takes to satisfy Mr. Boss's little princess. So just stop…stop chasing after her…stop punishing her for rejecting you without even knowing how you feel…stop trying to force her to look at you, even if it's with hate…just _stop_."

For a moment they were both silent. Rachel was breathing shakily, her eyes on Patton as he eyed the ground. She felt numb. She hadn't meant to go that far, hadn't meant to say all that she had. She never kept secrets from him, even though he still tried to hide things from her, and their whole friendship they'd always been brutally honest with one another, but she'd just told him he wasn't good enough for the girl he'd been pining over nearly three years. Even though he already knew it, they weren't easy words to hear.

"I'm sorry," Rachel mumbled, "I shouldn't have…I'm sorry. I'm just mad is all…"

"What makes you so sure I want her?" he finally asked gruffly.

"Please," Rachel scoffed, a quaver in her voice, "Your boys may get such a kick out of watching you knock daddy's girl down a few pegs that they don't think twice about it but I know you better than that, Patton. Some guys give a girl flowers, you shove her to the ground and kick dirt in her face."

Another moment of silence. Patton sighed and turned to lean back against his jeep. He glared for a moment across the lot at Fanny. He could see the awkward way she folded her body against Ricky, the way he talked to his friends, arm wrapped around her as though she were nothing more than a prop. The way she smiled and it didn't reach her eyes, the way Ricky joked and everyone laughed but her. The way he whispered in her ear and she flushed, looked ashamed or embarrassed or uncertain.

"You're wrong. I don't want her," he muttered half-heartedly.

"Really?" Rachel pressed, unconvinced.

"Yes. Really."

"Then why is it that in the past three years you've never dated a girl seriously," Rachel challenged, "Take Laura Limpin, for instance. She was the perfect girlfriend – perfect for _you_ anyway. She was pretty, sweet, and she kept you in line. You both had so many common interests too! Hiking, camping, paint ball. But you broke up with her after only a month. Why? Because you could have had something with her and that would mean giving up your dream girl."

Patton frowned and Rachel quirked a brow. She knew she had him there.

"Laura had a temper," he finally replied, "A violent temper."

"Oh, really," Rachel drawled, "So its just a coincidence that you ended things the same week the royal highness and her Fabio's relationship was on the rocks?"

Patton smirked, jeering, "I didn't know the perfect couple argued."

"Fine," Rachel snapped, "If you really don't want Fulbrite, then prove it."

Patton sniffed, shoved his hands in his pockets and lowered his eyes to glare at the pavement. He asked nonchalant, "How'm I supposed to do that?"

"Leave them alone," Rachel answered simply, pulling herself out of the jeep and turning slightly to catch his eye, "For the whole day. Don't talk to them, make-fun of them, don't even look their direction. Just…leave them alone. If you can do that, then maybe…_maybe_…I'll accept that I'm wrong and that you have no feelings for her."

"Too easy," Patton replied, pulling away from the jeep and starting for school. Rachel shook her head at his back, retrieving her book bag and hurrying to follow behind.

Moving towards Fanny and Ricky, the couple and their surrounding friends paused to stare, almost expectantly, at the approaching football player. Braced as though for a coming storm. Rachel didn't miss the tension in her friend's shoulders, but Patton kept his eyes focused forward and breezed by without so much a glance. She smirked, hoping, maybe he would prove her wrong. However, she did miss the way a redhead's confused emerald eyes lingered on the retreating dark-haired boy.

-1-2-3-4-5-

Numbuh 676 sat in his private headquarters sipping at a root beer. Yesterday had been long. It had taken several hours to get basic power back online and then another two hours before global communication was up and running again. After that time, he was debriefed on the list of known and suspected Teen Ninjas and held a meeting with his top lieutenants to decide which sectors' missions were of top priority and which could be postponed to investigate the hacking. Assignments had to then be handed out and he personally delivered a good number of them.

Early morning, and he finally had a break.

A knock resounded from Numbuh 676's door and he sighed before calling, "Come in."

Numbuh 2-Dollar-Bill entered. The ten-year-old tech-wizard looked worse for wear. Her once neatly tied pigtails were loose and coming undone, her bright hazel eyes sported dark circles, and her skin was sallow. Numbuh 676 imagined he didn't look much better. He settled back into his chair, taking another sip from his mug and watching her wearily as she saluted him then stood at attention.

"Numbuh 676, sir," she started, "I've come with the systems report. We have brought back online the sectors database and candy shipment…"

"Wayles," Numbuh 676 interrupted, causing Numbuh 2-Dollar-Bill to falter stunned at finding her real name on the Soopreme Leader's tongue. He motioned to a nearby chair, "Have a seat."

"S…sir?"

"Sit," he urged. Uncertainly, the girl moved towards the chair and slowly settled into it. She eyed him suspiciously. He stood, walked towards his personal refrigerator and opened it, asking over his shoulder, "What flavor pop would you prefer?"

"Um…grape…if you have it?" Numbuh 2-Dollar-Bill answered, expression puzzled. Numbuh 676 returned to his seat with the named beverage, handing a chilled can over. She cracked it open and tentatively lifted it to her mouth, eyes never leaving her leader.

"Always been a root beer kid myself," Numbuh 676 told her conversationally, taking a drawl from his mug, "Gotta have it on tap, though. Never from a can. Maybe in a bottle but can ruins the taste, if you ask me."

"Oh…um…yes. I agree. I've…always liked grape," Numbuh 2-Dollar-Bill stammered, "Sir?"

"Kota."

"What?"

"Call me Kota," Numbuh 676 said, sipping at his beverage again, "I don't feel like being a Numbuh right now."

"How many of those have you drank, sir…I mean…Kota," Numbuh 2-Dollar-Bill asked, concern edging her tone. The leader smiled, dark eyes lighting up with amusement.

"Too much…and not nearly enough."

"I see." Clearly, she didn't.

"Tell me something, Wayles," Numbuh 676 leaned forward in his chair, dark eyes locked with wavering amber.

"Um…sure…what is it, si…er…Kota."

"Why are you an operative? What made you want to join the Kids Next Door?"

"Oh," Numbuh 2-Dollar-Bill mouthed, taken aback by the question, "I don't know. I guess…well…it was my babysitter."

"Your babysitter?"

"Um…yeah. She always made me go to bed early," the confused operative continued, growing with confidence as she spoke, "Way before my bed time. So that she could have her boyfriend over and they'd watch television and…" she cringed at the memory, "_Kiss _on the couch." Numbuh 676 made a disgusted face, shaking his head sympathetically at his subordinate. She smiled suddenly, recalling a distant happy memory, "Then one day, at school, a substitute teacher, Miss Jucation, was torturing students with surprise pop quizzes on material we hadn't even covered yet. Numbuh 83 and 84…do you remember them?"

"Yes, I do." Numbuh 676 smiled fondly, "Numbuh 84 helped me with my yo-yo moves when I was a cadeet…he taught me how to do the 'Trapeze'."

"Yeah…they were great," Numbuh 2 Dollar-Bill grinned, "Well…they saved the day, stopped that horrible substitute and her Faculty-4, and ended those evil pop quizzes. I asked them at school about it. They were pretty secretive at first but…eventually…after I explained about my babysitter they let slip about the KND. They told me that everywhere kids were rising up, fighting against oppressive adults and teenagers. They told me that if I had what it took that I could become an operative too, just like them."

Numbuh 676 nodded, relaxing back into his chair once more and taking another swig of his soda.

"Obviously, since you're here now," he stated candidly, "You had what it took."

"Kota," Numbuh 2 Dollar-Bill said carefully, holding her can between both hands, "Is everything alright?"

Numbuh 676 sighed, letting his chin fall towards his chest, his eyes closed, "Yes…no…I'm not sure. Ever since the hacking…ever since listening to that list of fugitives…I…I've been thinking…questioning. What are we really fighting for? In a couple years, I'll be a teenager…like them. I wonder, will I think about betraying everything and everyone I fought for…like them? Turn fugitive…Teen Ninja…like them? Either way, I'll still be a teenager, an enemy to the KND. Even worse, eventually, I'll be an adult."

"But it's not about us, it was never about us," Numbuh 2 Dollar-Bill cried, surprising the somber leader, "Sure, you and I only have a few years left before decommissioning but…but…my mom…she's…well, she's going to have a baby. Soon I'm going to have a little sister or brother, a lot of operatives have younger siblings. We have to think about them, too. They have their whole childhoods ahead of them. We're not just fighting for the here, for the now. We're fighting for the future."

Numbuh 676 shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He swished the root beer in his mug, watching the fizz twirl. He took a sip then nodded at his comrade.

"Yeah," he murmured, clearing his throat and straightening. He fixed his dark eyes on her hazel ones, taking an authoritative tone once more, "Well, Numbuh 2-Dollar-Bill, I suppose we've put our duties off long enough. You had a report for me…?"

"Oh…um…yeah…Ko…oh…uh…sir," she stuttered, setting her cup down on the arm of her chair and standing once more at attention, "Uh…as I was saying, I've gotten a number of systems back online and reinforced the K.A.N.-O-S.O.U.P. I've also been following the hacker's trail, as you asked, and he was kind of all over the place, but after careful analysis, I found that one place in particular seemed to be of interest to him. Sector V's archived missions."

Numbuh 676 brow rose at that.

"Sector V is newly formed," he pointed out, "They haven't had any missions."

"Not that Sector V," Numbuh 2 Dollar-Bill calmly explained, "The original Sector V. And it gets stranger."

"How so?"

"Well, the hacker…he accessed a few mission logs but kept going back to one mission several times," she went on, "Their last mission, to be precise."

Numbuh 676 placed his mug down, folding his arms over his chest and wrinkling his forehead, mulling over what he'd just learned. He inquired, "Is there anything unusual about the last mission?"

"No, sir. Not really. Well…well…no."

"What is it, Numbuh 2 Dollar-Bill?"

"It's nothing. Really," she persisted then rolling her eyes, "The mission was just routine information gathering on something codenamed GANDER which there's not really a lot of data on in the archives. All I could find was that it was later classified as not hugely important."

"So what is the problem?"

Numbuh 2 Dollar-Bill shuffled from foot to foot, "There was a gap…in the mission logs, about three days wide…but that was it. And it's probably nothing. Most likely there was nothing to log. Like I said, GANDER was apparently a waste of time."

"Right," Numbuh 676 muttered, rubbing his hands over his face, "I guess…keep searching and keep bringing systems back up. And…uh…get someone to pull whatever information they can find on this GANDER thing for me. Anything that even mentions GANDER I want on my desk by twenty-hundred hours."

"Yes, sir. Anything else?"

"No, that'll be all. Dismissed." Numbuh 2 Dollar-Bill turned to leave, pausing when Numbuh 676 called, "Uh…Wayles? About our conversation here…"

"I'll take it with me to my decommissioning," she assured the young leader, shooting him a gentle smile before slipping from the room.

Numbuh 676 plucked his mug of root beer up in a hand, taking a sip, as he wandered towards his window. With a tired expression, he looked out at the black void of space and the glistening blue orb that was Earth.

…_for the future._

-5-4-3-2-1-

As Hoagie parked his truck in front of Willem High School, he looked to his brother with a forced smile. Tommy sat arms crossed, staring contemptuously out the passenger window, Sonya and Lee sitting uncomfortably side-by-side, silent the whole drive. The brothers hadn't spoken since the ride home after school the day before. Because of the tension, Hoagie had decided to postpone the rocket launcher test, dropping the other teenagers off at their respective homes, save for Leo who insisted he could cheer up a less than enthused Tommy. Leo ended up taking the bus home an hour later.

"Hey…uh…Tommy," Hoagie started, his brother not bothering to turn round, he took a deep breath, "Today should be better. You'll...um… know where your classes are and who to…er…avoid."

Wordlessly, Tommy tossed the truck door open and hopped out of the vehicle, storming towards the school. Heart sinking, Hoagie lowered his eyes, tightening his hands, which rested on his lap, into fists. Lee nodded a 'farewell' to the older boy as he slid out and Sonya thrust her arms around Hoagie's neck in a smothering embrace.

"Thanks for the ride," she murmured in his ear, before following Lee out of the vehicle. The two rushed to catch their friend.

Hoagie drummed the steering wheel a few times before exiting his truck and slamming the door shut in frustration. A few of his nearby peers eyed him and whispered amongst each other, drawing a blush to his pale cheeks. He shouldered his pack, gripping it with one hand, and trudged into the school. Eyes never leaving the ground, he walked the path he knew by heart to the AV room, looking forward to the peace he always found there.

"…fixed the cameras," Nick was saying to Arthur as Hoagie walked into his school sanctuary, startling him from his daze. The two boys stopped, turning to glance the newcomer.

After a brief period of confusion, Hoagie felt a groan coming on when he realized the media prodigy was probably there about the cameras that Whistler had volunteered to fix. His frustration at having to solve this new problem was slightly offset by the satisfaction he felt that the new boy, who could explain things to Arthur and romance Abigail Lincoln, had failed at a simple task.

"Oh man," Hoagie greeted, "Nick, I'm so sorry. I know I was supposed to fix those cameras…but the kid, he begged…he seemed sure he knew what he was doing but I'll go take care of them right now…"

"What are you talking about, Gilligan?" Nick demanded and Hoagie faltered.

"Aren't you here because Whistler couldn't fix those cameras?" he questioned.

"Couldn't fix the cameras?" Nick let roar a gregarious laugh as Hoagie took a harrowing breath, "If by couldn't fix you mean made better than brand new, then yeah, sure, he couldn't fix the cameras."

"If they're fixed, then why are you here?" Hoagie questioned, more heatedly than he'd intended.

"What do you think I'm here for? To thank Whistler," Nick exclaimed. The reply stung. Nick never came to personally thank Hoagie in all the years he'd been fixing things in the media room, "And maybe see if he could take a look at some of our audio equipment."

"What's wrong with the audio equipment? I could take care of it," Hoagie offered, "I mean, that guy might not…"

"No," Nick cut him off, "I'd really rather have Whistler look at it," the newscaster turned his attention back to Arthur, "Let him know I came by when he gets in."

"Sure thing," Arthur piped. Hoagie moved aside as Nick bustled out, eyes downcast once more. He looked up only when a hand touched his shoulder, meeting Arthur's cerulean eyes, "You got to admit, it's nice having another handyman around. No more forfeiting lunches."

"Yeah. Sure. Whatever," Hoagie muttered, throwing his bag on a table, "I'm going to start working on that inventory project. Where's the shipment?"

Arthur bit his lower lip, glancing away. Hoagie narrowed his eyes at his friend.

"_What_?"

"Well…" Arthur cleared his throat, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling, "Whistler came in after school yesterday…"

"No."

"…and put the shipment away."

"He doesn't know how the inventory system works," Hoagie cried out in disgust, rushing to the back in anticipation of having to re-sort _everything_.

"He…figured it out," Arthur spoke up, causing the other boy to halt dead in his tracks.

"Of course. Why not."

Tentatively, Arthur added, "He even made a few…tweaks."

"He _what_?" Hoagie screeched, reeling on his friend, eyes alit with fire, "My inventory system was perfect. Flawless. What could he possible have 'tweaked'?"

"Well, he shifted a few things around and altered the units in the database," Arthur sheepishly admitted, "It actually makes more sense than…never mind."

"Then what? Then my system? Go ahead. Say it, Arthur. His changes make more sense than what I had," Hoagie exploded, "The guy fixes cameras better than me, he inventories better than me, he _talks to girls_ better than me. I bet he could be a better brother than me! Is there anything this guy can't do?"

Hoagie kicked the leg of the table in frustration only to find himself hopping on one foot. Arthur flinched inwardly, obvious confusion written across his features.

"Dammit, the guy probably kicks tables better than me too," Hoagie shouted in pain.

The door to the AV room opened then and, in Hoagie's eyes, the devil appeared.

"What is all this shouting about?" Whistler questioned, looking around the room in bewilderment.

"_You_," Hoagie growled, causing the younger boy to coil back with wide-eyes.

Abigail peeked curiously into the room and the injured boy felt his anger suddenly dissipate, face heating up in embarrassment.

"Wow, what is all the commotion?" she queried, surveying the room with a bemused expression. Her eyes fixed on Hoagie, still nursing his hurt toe, and smirked, taunting, "Did they push back the release date on the new Zelda game, Junior?"

"Uh…er…no," Hoagie stammered, eyeing the ground and rubbing a hand across the back of his neck.

Whistler glanced strangely between the older boy and his new friend. He cleared his throat and announced, "I came here to grab a few cables. Abigail's computer in the journalism room isn't connected to the network."

"So you're going to set it up for her. Figures," Hoagie muttered bitterly beneath his breath.

"Is everything…okay?" Whistler questioned Hoagie quietly. Abigail had crossed her arms, looking up at the boys through thick lashes.

"Uh…Nick came by," Arthur spoke up.

"Oh…um…how are the cameras running?" the sophomore asked disinterestedly, hesitantly making his way towards the storage cabinets to gather the wires he would need.

"Better than brand new," Hoagie muttered, plopping into a chair and scowling at his hands. Of course the kid would walk in mid-rant with Abigail. As if the nerd king's life wasn't sucking enough now Abby would have another reason to hate him.

"Really? That's good, I suppose," Whistler replied, sheepish, "I'm sure it wasn't half as good as anything you could have done."

"Yeah. Whatever."

Hoagie suddenly noticed the extra pack on Whistler's shoulder. He glanced at Abigail, book bag-less and his frown deepened. So now the little uppity sophomore was carrying her books for her. Soon they'd be going out for ice cream socials and she'd be wearing his pin. That would be just perfect.

"Hey, Hoagie," a low whisper startled the self-deprecating boy from his mental tired. Blue eyes met yellow-tinted glasses.

"What?" Hoagie hissed, then bit his inner cheek and lightened his tone, he muttered, "What do you want, Whistler?"

Whistler fidgeted with the cables in his hands, glancing to Abigail nervously. She stood in the doorway chatting with a flustered Arthur. The blond boy had his eyes on the tiled floor and was wringing his hands as he spoke. He'd never been very good at talking to girls. Hoagie rolled his eyes. He hoped he wouldn't be legally responsible for his actions if the sophomore asked for relationship advice.

"I'm not entirely certain about setting up the network…"

"And you want me to instruct you on how to do it so you can impress the girl," Hoagie surmised, shaking his head in frustration, "Fine, whatever. Let me get a pen and paper and…"

"Impress the girl?" Whistler repeated dumbly, furrowing his brow, "Why would I want to…?"

"Uh…because you like her," Hoagie pointed out haughtily as he retrieved a notepad from his tote, "Though I got news for you, you're way out of her league. I mean, you're a sophomore, working on geek status. She's a junior, editor of the newspaper, one of the most popular girls in school. Her ex-boyfriend, Maurice, was a college student, a basketball star, graduated class valedictorian, and was voted most likely to succeed. Just saying, you got no chance, buddy."

"What about you?" Whistler questioned.

"What about me?"

"If I'm out of her league…what are you?"

Hoagie shifted uncomfortably in his chair glancing to the girl in the doorway.

"I'm…not interested," he hesitantly informed the nosy sophomore. Two brows shot up to hide under dreadlocks then immediately fell back into place. Hoagie continued nonchalant, "Look, I'm only telling you this as a warning. I don't really want to see you get hurt. Some of the kids at this school, they don't like to see our kind stepping out of boundaries, you know? Nerds don't follow around the social elite without repercussion."

"Is that why you're not interested?" Whistler pressed. Hoagie gave the boy a confused look. He wondered, was the boy trying to assess the competition?

"No. I'm just…not interested," he reiterated. Whistler shuffled, lowering his eyes and seeming uncertain of something. Hoagie asked, "Do you want the instructions or not?"

"Erm…no," Whistler murmured, "I was actually hoping…thinking…maybe you could come and show me." Hoagie raised a brow at that.

"What?"

"Well…I…uh…" Whistler shifted his weight, and brought his blue eyes up to the older boy once more, "I learn better when someone is showing me than from directions."

"Let me get this straight," Hoagie seethed, "You can fix cameras better than brand new but you can't set up a network and you can't follow simple instructions?"

Why was everyone falling for this guy's charms?

"Well…my dad showed me how…to…with cameras…and things like that…before he…" Whistler mumbled, wincing. He cleared his throat and shook his head, "Never mind. I'll just tell Abby I can't do it. Sorry."

The pudgy boy started to shuffle away and Hoagie closed his eyes, shaking his head in exasperation. He knew he was going to hate himself for this.

"Wait," he called despairingly. Whistler paused, glancing back, "Fine. I'll show you."

A wide grin spread across the younger boy's face but beside him Abigail looked skeptical. Hoagie grabbed his tote and followed the two teens out the door. Abby whispered something in Whistler's ear, eyeing Hoagie over her shoulder and the nerd king rolled his eyes. Sometimes he hated being a nice guy.

* * *

AN: It had occurred to me when writing this that Patton and Rachel haven't had much "screen" time despite their characters being as important as Fanny's. So far she's only gotten more attention however because, well, she's Kuki's friend. Anyhoo...a few things were revealed this chappie. Exciting, I think. I"m exhausted and need bed but I really wanted to get this up A S A now. Okie, I didn't like this chapter, at least, I don't right now but that's probably because I'm passing out as I write this. I'm sorry if there are any grammatical mistakes or anything doesn't make sense. Shouldn't proof when I'm this tired.

Oh well. Why am I still talking? See ya' next time.


	11. Chapter 10

AN: Once again, I'm soooo very sorry it took as long as it did to get this chapter up! Work is still pounding me. :( I don't have to work this weekend so my goal is to get two chapters written by Tuesday. However, it is my birthday on Saturday and I do have plans so we'll just have to see if I can acheive that goal...sigh. I'm so tired. Please, read!

* * *

Chapter 10:

Sandy sidled his bike up to the sidewalk and looked uncertainly at the rickety building before him. One of its windows was boarded up and inside music was playing loudly, there was laughter and shouting. A sign above the doorway read "The Bubble Gum Wrapper". Mushi hopped off the handlebars and readjusted the bag on her shoulder. She straightened her skirt and felt at her hair for any mess.

"Uh…Moosh…what are we doing here?" Sandy questioned. Mushi gave her boyfriend a patronizing smile, patting the side of his face.

"Oh, don't you worry your pretty little head, my king," she told him condescendingly, "You just wait here until I get back. And keep the motor running, sweetie."

Pecking the anxious boy on the nose, Mushi spun on heel and marched confidently into the building, door slamming shut behind her. Sandy tightened his grip on the handlebars of his bike and focused his eyes forward on the road in attempt to tune out his suspicious surroundings.

Inside the rundown building was lively. Men clad in pirate garments downed tankards of sugar, nibbled on licorice sticks, and sucked lollipops. They eyed the little Japanese girl who'd entered with cruel interest but Mushi, unconcerned, scoured their sugar gnarled faces for one pirate in particular. She smiled when she sighted him in the back corner, a portly man with red beard full of candy, a captain's cap on his head, an eye patch, and a peppermint hook and leg.

Without so much a glance at the pirates making catcalls, Mushi weaved her way to the back of the room, stopping at her target's table and peering down her nose.

"Captain Stickybeard," she greeted. Her tone was confident, even slightly jeering, despite the gathering crowd of curious sugar pirates at her back.

"Aye," the red bearded man confirmed, "And who ye be?"

"Mushi," the little girl stated, "I believe you knew my sister, Kuki." Confused looks were shifted around. Mushi's lip curled into a sneer and she leaned over the table, palms pressed against its edge, to meet the captain's eyes, "She would've been called Numbuh 3 at the time."

A tidal wave of whispers swept through the crowd and Stickybeard let a smile of realization dawn on his face.

"I see…so ye be Numbuh 3's sister," he announced, rising to his feet. Mushi straightened as well, smirking up at the pirate and giving a curt nod of confirmation. The captain chuckled, "You chose the wrong candy bar to be walking into with that title hanging over yer head, lil' lass."

"Perhaps," Mushi said, examining her fingernails, "You should sit down."

"Oh, should I now?" Stickybeard burst into laughter, his comrades joining in as they moved in closer to tighten the circle around the dark-haired child, "And why would I be doing that?"

"Because I need information," Mushi calmly explained to him, "And you're going to give it to me."

"Will I?" Stickybeard continued, his amusement growing.

"Yes," Mushi replied, setting her pack on the table and carefully unzipping it.

"I don't think so. In case you failed to notice, lass, you're surrounded," Stickybeard persisted, "And while we don't usually make it a habit of harrassin' candy-less lubbers like yerself, we might just have to make an exception for the own sweet lil' flesh and blood of our old friend, Numbuh 3."

As the captain spoke, Mushi lifted an object from her pack and set it on the table. Large twin canisters were tied side by side filled to overflowing with thick red liquid, amongst a tangle of colorful wires and different metallic and plastic components. In her petite hand, she held a thin black cylinder, her thumb hovering over a bright red button. She turned her attention back to Stickybeard. The pirates all fell silent, eyeing the curious device.

"What be that?" Stickybeard questioned with a slight hitch in his words. Mushi grinned sadistically up at him.

"_That_ be a V8 Bomb. My own design," she informed the candy pirates, "So unless you would like to receive your daily serving of vegetables, I suggest you sit down."

The mirth in the room died. A bead of sweat trickled along Stickybeard's forehead. He motioned at the girl with his peppermint hook, stammering, "You wouldn't. You…you would be caught in the explosion yerself…even Numbuh 3 wasn't that crazy…"

Coolly, Mushi ran a finger up the side of one canister, catching a dribble of the sinister red juice then popping it in her mouth to lick it off. She smiled sweetly up at the pirate, "Oh. I'm nothing like my sister."

Swallowing hard, the pirate captain took a seat back at the table while the crowd of onlookers slowly backed up from the explosive. Mushi took the seat across from Stickybeard, holding the detonator in one hand, cupping her cheek with the other as her elbow balanced on the table.

"What type of information ye be looking for, lass?" Stickybeard cautiously questioned, his eyes fixed on the V8 bomb.

"Kids Next Door type information."

The captain's gaze briefly flickered to Mushi then returned to her weapon of choice.

"Ye not an operative," he noted, a small smirk in the corner of his mouth, "If ye be Numbuh 3's sister, why ye not be an operative?"

"I already told you," Mushi hissed, "I'm nothing like my sister. But for the sake of your curiosity, let's just say I don't agree with their methods." She ran her thumb suggestively over the top of the detonator button. The captain nodded understanding.

"Alright, alright. No need to do anything rash. What ye be wanting to know?"

"I believe something big is going on within the Kids Next Door," Mushi continued, "I want to know what it is."

"I couldn't tell you," Stickybeard admitted. Mushi leered unimpressed, applying pressure to the button. "I swear, I don't know anything," the captain whimpered.

"Nothing at all?" Mushi urged, eyes narrowing. Stickybeard's eyes darted from the bomb to the detonator to the little girl.

"Uh…well…"

"Well?"

"I don't know anything," Stickybeard cried again, "But, I can tell ye that yer right. Something big is going down with the Kids Next Door." He glanced nervously around the bar then dropped his voice to a low whisper, "My crew and I intercepted a Kids Next Door chocolate malt cargo ship a few days back and were on the run from a fleet of the brats. Then last night, suddenly, they dropped out of sight and we ain't seen 'em since."

"You sure they didn't just lose interest?" Mushi suggested. Stickybeard looked at her as though she were insane…well, more insane than she'd already proven herself to be.

"Not likely, lass," he told her, "It was only the second largest shipment of malt I've ever seen. A lot of kids are going to be without for a good while."

"And you know nothing else?" Mushi demanded. The captain fidgeted in his chair.

"Aye."

Mushi leaned forward, her sloe eyes boring into the Captain's own.

"Though…" the captain took a deep breath, hating to relinquish the info but hating vegetables more, "You might be askin' the boss. If something is going down he might've caught wind of it."

"Mr. Boss, hm?" Mushi mused. She kept her dark gaze on the Captain, stewing in his own saccharine juices.

Suddenly, the raven-haired girl relaxed, lifting herself from the chair and sliding her pack up on a shoulder. She left the bomb where it was, detonator still in hand, and started for the door.

"Uh…" the captain cleared his throat and Mushi paused, glancing over her shoulder inquiringly to him. He pointed at the explosive, "Won't ye be taking this with ye, lass?"

"No. I think I'll leave that here for safekeeping," she replied then smiling cheekily she warned, "Don't play with it too much though. You might set it off."

With that said, Mushi exited the bar, leaving the pirates staring warily at the explosive.

Outside, Sandy nervously waited on his bicycle when his girlfriend reappeared. She spat disgustedly at the ground while tucking the detonator into her pack.

Wiping at her mouth, Mushi muttered, "Ugh…vegetable juice." She hopped on the bike handlebars and commanded Sandy, "Now take me to school."

-1-2-3-4-5-

That morning, Joey had woken to a cup of cold water in the face. Sputtering and wiping at his eyes then opening them just in time to catch a glimpse of his older brother groggily exiting the room. He had scowled angrily then remembering the bus, sighed and dressed in the dark before racing downstairs to make a bowl of cereal. His mother nowhere in sight, though remnants of stubbed out cigarettes on a dinner plate still sat on the table next to a couple empty beer bottles. He had distantly wondered if she were home or where his father was, considered going upstairs to check their room then thought better of it.

Joey watched cartoons for a half hour while eating his cereal. He thought about his mission the night before, simple reconnaissance. It was easy enough. He had slipped into the twins' "headquarters", otherwise known as their family house, and was able to bug their respective rooms without being caught. He had also managed to do a little snooping around but found nothing of suspect. There was no evidence that either boys were working for the Teen Ninjas but he supposed it was possible they were still in the recruiting stages or had their armaments and such stashed in a more secret location.

Breakfast finished, cartoon over, and time to head out for school near, Joey climbed the stairs and gently knocked on his brother's door. There came no answer so he cracked the door open and peeked in. Wally was strewn across his mattress, blankets tossed to the ground and a single pillow clutched beneath his head.

"Um…Wally?" Joey called out.

The older boy stirred slightly.

"Wha…?" he mumbled groggily, not bothering to open his eyes.

"Well…I…uh…I was about to head…um…for the bus stop," the small boy stammered, tightening his grip on the door handle and lowering his eyes. He hated how small Wally could make him feel, how unimportant, just like an annoying gnat hovering about the older boy's face.

"Where's mum?"

"Oh…I don't know," Joey murmured, chewing his bottom lip and eyeing the ground. He heard shifting on the bed and glanced up through shaggy strands of blond to watch the older boy turning over, back now to the door.

"Didja eat breakfast?"

"Yeah," Joey whispered.

"Okay…"

"Erm…bye, Wally," Joey said. Without another word he quietly closed the door and headed out of the house.

In the cold gray morning, Joey walked the short distance to his stop, waiting with a slew of other kids from Gallagher for the bus to arrive. When it did, they clambered begrudgingly on and chose empty seats. Kalani was already onboard, so Joey sat next to her and half-heartedly smiled greeting.

"Any new word from Global Command," the Hawaiian questioned. Joey leaned heavily back in the seat, closing his eyes tiredly and shaking his head. Kalani's brow drew together, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

A moment of silence. "Parents or brother?"

The small blond sighed. He muttered, "Neither. Both. I don't know."

"I always tell you to pack some 2x4 tech with you for the homestead, just in case," Kalani chided, "But you never listen. You live with a teenager of unknown allegiance and your father works for one of the highest ranking adult villains. You need to watch your back, Numbuh 25."

"Wally isn't a Teen Ninja," Joey snapped, immediately regretting the harshness in his tone. He bit his tongue.

"You wouldn't be the first operative whose family was the enemy," Kalani reminded her leader, "And I'm sorry to be the one to say this, Joe, but your brother has shown anti-kid tendencies."

Joey squeezed his eyes closed. He hated to admit it but she was right. Wally was often cranky and hostile. When he was an eighth grader he'd given younger students wedgies while walking down the hallways and bloody noses, black eyes, or dead legs in P.E., made elementary school kids cry yelling at them to 'bugger off' or to "stop whining". Stormy eyes shimmered uncertainly. Joey didn't know what he would do if Wally were the enemy.

And then Joey thought of the night before. No Teen Ninja would ever fight an imaginary monster for their kid brother, it didn't matter the situation.

"You're wrong," Joey reaffirmed, his words hard and determined, "Wally is _not_ a Teen Ninja."

Kalani looked unconvinced but she made no further comment. They silently exited the bus when it pulled up to their school and met Louisa and T.S. at the front entrance.

"Report, Numbuh 68," Joey commanded, foregoing any pleasantries, features shadowed by his hair. Louisa sent Kalani a questioning look but the other girl simply shrugged and stood tensely to the side.

"Oh…um…yeah," T.S. fidgeted with his book back, repositioning his bunny beneath his arm and searching in his pack, "I stayed all night outside Virginia's house and then followed her to school…" he pulled out a notebook, flipping through its contents. He momentarily pulled his shoulders up and sent a cheery smile to his comrades, which Louisa returned and the other two rolled their eyes at, then cleared his throat and mumbled, "Nothing really interesting happened. Um…there was one strange thing though…when she got to school this morning she met a boy…I have his name written down here…" T.S. scanned his scribbles for a second, "Bartie. From what I could see they went into a…janitor closet? I couldn't go in to investigate though because the place was crawling with teens."

"It could be a Teen Ninja meeting place," Joey noted, "Cross reference it with Global Command intelligence of the area. Find out more about this Bartie as well. Anything else?"

"I was able to successfully tag her with a tracking device," T.S. continued, flipping through the pages in his notebook, many of which appeared to only be covered with doodles, "But that's all."

"Right…well…good work," Joey commended, Kalani covered a cough beside him and he gently elbowed her in the side.

Before any more could be said the bell rang.

Joey told his team, "We'll talk more at recess," and the four started for class.

-5-4-3-2-1-

Walking up the steps of Willem High that Tuesday morning, Nigel had one mission in mind. Find Abigail Lincoln. Hoagie had made clear that the two boys' investigation into their odd nostalgia would not continue until Nigel had met the mystery girl. Hoagie had also recommended the journalism room as a good starting point for finding Abigail and the bald boy had every intention of heading straight there. His plans were, however, waylaid when he opened the door of the school and found himself face to face with his ex-girlfriend.

Running into Lizzie the day before had been quite the surprise for Nigel. He had all but forgotten about the feisty carrot-top when he'd moved away to England. She was much as the British boy recalled her to be, loud and brash but enigmatically delicate and girly.

That morning Lizzie was dressed in a white cotton gown, her hair braided with daisies, her sparkling blue eyes framed in silver-rimmed glasses. She stood with her hands clasped before her; lips glossed peach pressed in a modest smile. In her teenage years, Lizzie had become less pear shaped more curved and voluptuous. She wasn't slender or petite and she wore outfits that emphasized her feminine form.

"Nigie," Lizzie squealed delightedly upon seeing the startled Brit. She flung her arms about him in a friendly embrace, "I'm so happy we keep running into each other."

"Oh…ah…yes. As am I," Nigel replied stiffly, recovering from the initial shock, "Good morning."

The carrot-top stepped back, flustered. She lowered her eyes and lightly touched her mouth with a hand.

"I'm sorry," she admitted, "I was just so excited to see you. Ever since fate brought us back together yesterday, I've been thinking a lot about when we were…well…you know."

"Dating," Nigel supplied, straightening his clothing and clearing his throat, "Quite alright. I'm pleased to see you again, as well. You look fetching today, Lizzie."

"Oh, Nigel," the carrot-top giggled, lightly batting a hand his way. Falling into step beside one another the two began into the building. Lizzie commented conversationally, "Fending off all those questions yesterday about our history we really didn't have much time to talk. Why don't you tell me about England?"

"England? Ah…it was blinding…mm…fantastic, I mean," Nigel answered, pleasantly surprised by the question. No one had actually asked him about it yet, "To think that as soon as I had arrived there I had wanted to return here. Now that I'm here, I'd love nothing more than to go back."

The two shared a chuckle at that sentiment.

"When I had first moved to England I was in complete culture shock. The area, the food, even the language was all so strange and alien. It took me the better part of a year to figure out what everyone was saying, imagine how brassed off I was," Nigel went on, "People were talking about taking a butcher's hook and apples and oranges and I was scratching my head thinking they wanted to rob some poor gent then eat a fruit salad. Cockney rhyming slang…I still haven't gotten entirely used to it. Luckily, one day, I was out with a few chums, listening to them chin wag when everything seemed to just click. Suddenly I was speaking like a regular Englishman, almost as though I'd been living there my entire life."

"Your accent has gotten stronger," Lizzie noted.

"I suppose it has," they paused at Nigel's locker and he worked on the combination, continuing, "I was fortunate enough to make good friends willing to put up with my Yank ways. Blimey, if it wasn't for Ian Steed teaching me proper English manners everyone would have thought I was an American prat...not that they didn't at first. Then there was Tommie Baker with her endless scarves and invaluable advice…ah…and Bobby Morse, he kept me on the straight and narrow. I miss them all."

Nigel was painfully aware that he was rambling, which wasn't characteristic of him. Usually the Brit was more guarded, his thoughts kept private. But caught up in the mystery of dreams and inexplicable nostalgia, he hadn't had the time to feel homesick. Now, speaking frankly about his time in the Queen's land, those emotions were crashing around him. It was odd that he'd lived longer in America but felt more connected to Britain. Perhaps, he wondered, because those nine years stateside were fuzzy and, as Hoagie had described them, dreamlike.

"There's nothing you like about being back in the U.S.," Lizzie inquired innocently, catching Nigel by surprise. He startled from his reminiscing and studied the carrot-top with a well-trained eye. She stood with one foot propped on its toe, twisting the heel back and forth, knee bent forward. Her hands were clasped behind her back, her hips swayed with the leg. Her chin was tilted down, her shimmering blue eyes peering up at the bald boy through thin orange lashes, her brow furrowed together, her peach lip forming a delicately protruded pout. His heart gave an aching thud and he swallowed hard, flustering.

"Ah…um…" he stammered, thinking his words out carefully. He didn't want to offend the girl but he had yet to consider his feelings for her and certainly didn't want to give her the wrong impression. He closed his locker and cleared his throat, donning a jokingly conspiratorial tone, "Hamburgers. Blast if you can find a good London hamburger. The fish and chips are godly but, alas, you have to cross the bloody

Atlantic ocean if you want a grilled beef patty on a bun."

Lizzie gave a sort of chuckle and Nigel offered a half-smile, feeling slightly awful.

"Were you going to head for your homeroom?" the carrot-top asked in an attempt to move on from the awkward moment.

"Well, actually, I was going to look for…ah…the journalism room," Nigel responded, catching himself before mentioning Abigail. It was bad enough he'd glossed over an obvious invite of flirtation but to follow it up with leaving on a search for a different girl would be poor manners indeed.

"The journalism room?" Lizzie squawked, "Why would you want to go there?"

The Brit winced before hesitantly lying, "I'm thinking of joining the staff."

Lizzie quirked a suspicious brow at that, placing hands on hips and peering up appraisingly at the bald boy.

"I don't remember you being all that interested in writing," she commented charily. They stood at dead standstill as several seconds ticked by. Suddenly, Lizzie cracked a bright smile, throwing her hands excitedly in the air and exclaiming, "I'm so glad to hear that you've picked it up! You used to be so uptight with _no_ creative outlet. You were starting to get stress wrinkles…didn't look good with the premature baldness."

Nigel made a face, which Lizzie ignored while going on to say in an oddly disapproving tone, "If you're thinking of applying for the newspaper, Abigail Lincoln is editor this year. Everyone thinks she's _so_ great, and smart, and pretty. She's just nosy and really, sort of, average looking if you ask me. She doesn't wear make-up, or do anything with her hair, and she _always_ wears pants…never a dress or skirt…well you re…"

The redhead nearly choked on her last word. For a moment she had a look as though tasting something sour then shook her head.

It was Nigel's turn to quirk a brow.

"I re…what?" he pressed.

"Oh…nothing," Lizzie murmured, she seemed to be searching her mind for the right words before meekly saying, "I just…forgot…you wouldn't have known her…because…you…uh…moved…and…uh…weren't really friends…in grade school. Erm…I can take you to the journalism room if you'd like. But we should get going if you want to check about joining the staff before the bell rings."

"Alright. Thanks," Nigel slowly agreed, contemplating Lizzie's behavior. They started down the hallway again, uncomfortable quiet settling between them.

"Will you be sitting with Kuki and all them again at lunch today?" the redhead asked after a few moments. Nigel shrugged, hitching his backpack up higher on his shoulders.

"I suppose, if I'm welcomed again. Will you be there as well?"

"No," Lizzie answered, "I was only sitting with them yesterday because I didn't know who else shared that lunch period. I don't usually hang out with their group. I'll be sitting with my own friends today," she smiled sweetly to the Brit, "You're welcome to join me if you want."

Nigel was saved from having to answer as they turned the hall and found themselves in a scene straight out of an after-school movie special. A large boy in a fedora cap had a smaller, huskier, and obviously younger boy pinned to the lockers. Two goons leered over them and the corridor was suspiciously deserted. The victim, a freshman Nigel surmised from his size, was wearing a pair of goggles atop his head and for some unknown reason the Brit was immediately reminded of Hoagie.

"Oh my," Lizzie gasped, grasping at Nigel's sleeve and tugging in attempt to draw him back around the corner.

"Well…well…well," the antagonist was saying, "If it isn't my favorite piggy bank."

"Let me go," the little boy cried bravely, unfortunately sounding pathetic given his captors' sizes and intimidating positions.

"That's Ernest," Lizzie whimpered pleadingly in Nigel's ear, "He's not a nice guy. Come on, before he notices us."

"Or what…? Your big brother will do our homework?" the bully jeered down at his tiny target. The other boys broke into cruel laughter. Nigel gritted his teeth.

"Does your cell have a camera?" he whispered to Lizzie, her eyes burning worriedly at him.

"Yes. Why?"

"Just hand it over," he commanded. The redhead dug from her bag a Blackberry decorated with pink sparkle decals and handed it over. He strode confidently towards the boys with the phone in camera mode calling, "Smile!"

Four pairs of surprised eyes turned just as the camera clicked.

Nigel smiled, saying slyly, "I think the dean of students would really like that one. Oh, blimey good luck too, mates, I've got his email right here…"

"Hey, who do you think…" Ernest began, dropping his victim and moving towards the newcomer. Nigel held up a hand.

"Ah, ah. One more step and I send this incriminating evidence to higher authorities," he warned. The bullies paused, blanching. The Brit continued, "I'm guessing you've got a few strikes on your record, Mister Ernest and can only imagine what sort of punishment you would receive for this little shakedown."

"Alright, alright," Ernest growled, "You don't have to send that image. We can make a deal. What do you want, cue ball?"

"Walk away and leave the boy alone," Nigel answered.

"And you delete that picture?"

"No. I don't _send_ the picture. I hang on to it for insurance."

The bullies looked amongst themselves and then Ernest fixed Nigel with a dangerous glare that made the Brit wish a particular Aussie were beside him to match it.

"I don't know who you are," Ernest seethed, jabbing a finger in the air towards Nigel, "But you just made an enemy. Sleep with your finger on that 'send' button, baldy, because the minute I catch you with your guard down…" He pounded the palm of his hand for effect. Then the lumbering hulks turned on heel and disappeared down the hall.

Nigel let the air from his lungs in a great whoosh, Lizzie rushing up beside him.

"That was amazing," she squealed, grasping at his arm.

"It was nothing," he smirked down at her and held the pink Blackberry out. She returned it to her bag.

The Brit turned his attention to the boy, pressed wide-eyed against the wall of lockers. He plastered a consoling smile onto his face and stepped forward, bearing in mind to hold himself in as unthreatening a posture as he could muster.

"Nu…muh…Nigel?" the goggled child questioned, startling his savior. The Brit stopped dead in his tracks and straightened.

"Uh…yes," he confirmed then quizzically furrowing his brow, "Are you related to Hoagie Gilligan?"

The same look that had crossed Lizzie's face when speaking about Abigail and Kuki again appeared once more and Nigel took note of it.

"Oh. Yeah! He's my brother," the boy conceded then quickly added, "Uh…he told me about you…that's how I knew your name. I'm Tommy."

A pudgy hand shot out and Nigel slowly accepted, giving it a firm shake.

"Thanks for the help."

"Not a problem," Nigel murmured.

Now that he had the opportunity to really take in Tommy's appearance, Nigel was stunned. Slightly overweight, dressed in a blue button down and brown slacks, with an aviator cap atop ruddy locks and eyes hidden behind yellow tint, the young boy seemed to stir old memories in the elder's mind. A swirl of random images such as flying in an odd craft, the moon brightly lit in the black of space with a giant mechanical yet at the same time organic mass attached, and, of course, the room made of wood.

"That was awesome, what you did," Tommy gushed excitedly to the older boy, "It was a good thing you had the dean's email address on hand."

"I didn't," Nigel admitted nonchalant, images still swirling in his mind. He focused his eyes on the goggles atop Tommy's head; there was something about them. He questioned without thought, "Did those belong to Hoagie?"

The young boy touched his eyewear and confirmed disinterestedly, "Yeah," then went on to inquire, "How did you know that would work? Threatening to send those pictures…?"

"I didn't," Nigel responded, furrowing his brow. He wondered how he'd known those goggles had once belonged to the older Gilligan. It was reasonable to assume that the old aviator equipment were hand-me-downs but the Brit couldn't help thinking it was tied to the other oddities he'd encountered since moving back to America.

_Moonbase._

Pain shot across the front of Nigel's skull and he touched a hand to his forehead, nausea setting in.

"That makes it all the more amazing," Tommy was still saying, "I wish my brother…well…who cares about my brother. You really saved my butt!"

"So you know Hoagie Gilligan," Lizzie was murmuring, strangely lingering on that revelation. Then she seemed to notice the glossy look in Nigel's eyes. She placed a hand on his sleeve calling dramatically, "Oh, Nigie, are you okay?"

"I…uh…erm…"

_Moonbase._

There was that feeling again as though the fate of something…something great rest on his shoulders. The feeling that he was letting everyone down. Little explosions of black spilled across his vision.

As the school hallway and that goggled reminder of a strangely familiar boy faded into black, Nigel wondered, what was a Moonbase exactly?

-1-2-3-4-5-

The medication was not working.

That was Wally's first thought of the morning when he had wandered down the hallway to awaken Joey. He had successfully gotten two hours of sleep that night. Nonconsecutive but still quite a feat. His alarm had woken him up from the last twenty minutes of slumber.

The medication was supposed to dull the pain.

Wally was certain it only made him worse. He had stared at the ceiling for hours that night listening to his mother's movements downstairs while contemplating several angry and very violent actions. Taking a baseball bat to someone's car, for instance. Perhaps his father's, maybe a neighbor's. He wanted to feel the power of destroying something solid and seemingly invincible. Thinking of the crunch of the windshield shattering into a million tiny shards sent shivers of joy down his spine.

The medication was supposed to make him feel happy.

Punching a panda would make Wally happy. Sometime after midnight he had heard his father's car pull into the driveway, the engine died. The old man had stumbled through the door and up the stairs. Well, maybe not a panda…what's the cutest animal in the world? A koala? A dolphin? A rabbit? Maybe a chinchilla – whatever the hell that was. Yeah, he wanted to punch it. That would make him happy. To take something small and unassumingly cute and give it one good wallop. Annoyingly useless animals anyway, the whole lot of them.

Yeah. The medication wasn't working.

Hours later and there Wally sat on the school bleachers in the low morning light glaring out at the football field and wondering, yet again, why he bothered. He'd gotten his brother to the bus on time or so he assumed as Joey wasn't awaiting a ride when Wally grabbed an orange for breakfast on his way out the door for school. His parents, most likely, were awake by now. Plonked, cranky because of it, and arguing as father readied for work and mother cracked open another bottle of beer.

From the corner of his vision, Wally spotted ebony racing up from below the bleachers towards the school. He let his hair fall into his eyes, emerald orbs squeezed shut in frustration, hands balled into fists in his sweater pockets. He let the anger boil inside him, chewing his inner cheek until the warm metallic taste of blood filled his mouth.

Miscreants frequently dwelled under the bleachers, making shady dealings or sneaking a few tokes of a cigarette. Wally had hoped to find Joe Balooka there. He most definitely had not expected to find her there. Black eyes swelling with emotion framed with black wisps of silken hair falling across a smooth pale face. Subconsciously, he rubbed a shoulder. He hadn't expected something so tiny to be so fierce. It had simply caught him off guard, he assured himself, as explanation for how she'd managed to send him flying to the ground. He smirked at the memory; it really had been a nice toss.

Kuki Sanban. Wally sighed heavily, leaning against the bleachers and rolling his head back so his face was to the sky. He'd almost spoken her name; nearly bit his tongue in stopping himself. It didn't look right knowing who she was despite never really speaking with her. She sent his mind reeling in a way similar to Hoagie and Nigel, and yet, so different. He shook his head. He hated thinking about it.

Carlos Campeon. Ace. The bulky Hispanic flashed before Wally's eyes.

"Asshole," he muttered, an ache awning in his chest as he recalled how intimately the other boy had touched Kuki. It was a way he would never be able to touch her in. A gentle hand on her wrist, body positioned as if to shield her from any harm.

Wally scowled. Carlos was right to protect the girl from him. He was bad, rotten to the core. Insane and a drongo. Weren't those his own mother's words? Leave him be and he'd just cause trouble. It was his nature, after all. He wondered, if he touched sweet, innocent Kuki, would she be tainted? He imagined his hand would leave behind a dirty mark on her pure flesh. A stain she would have to scrub clean.

Yes, Carlos was right. He needed to protect that cherubic girl from the big, bad Wallabee Beatles. Because who knew what the psychopath would do if he had lovely Kuki Sanban alone.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Wally pulled himself up from the bleachers. Why did he bother? The medication wasn't working. The nights were still sleepless. The pain was still there. Happiness still evaded him. And he was the villain the noble hero protected the girl from. All he knew how to do was wreak havoc and damned if he wasn't good at it. Start planning your apology mum, Wally thought, this year he would set the town on fire.

Climbing towards the school and heading for the backside of the building to continue the search for Balooka, Wally trained his eyes forward, glaring down any passer-bys. Students rushed past or avoided the temperamental blond altogether. A nasty sneer played on his lips.

And a door smacked him in the face.

Stumbling back, Wally rubbed at his face fiercely, cursing under his breath, "Gah…crud! How many times am I going to get whacked out of nowhere today?" He glanced his surroundings quickly, surmised that no one had seen the mishap, then focused his attention on those three students exiting the class in a tight formation.

Heart stopped. Body frozen. Breath hastened. Wally leaned against the wall for support. Everything inside of him screamed 'attack, fight, kill'. Three pairs of pale blue eyes turned to him, watched with interest. Raging green glared up at them through shaggy strands of blond, face sallow and skin blanketed in a layer of cold sweat. He clenched and unclenched his fist, struggling against the brewing storm.

"Delightful dorks," he hissed in greeting.

The Wigglestein siblings looked amongst one another, sadistic smiles crossing their faces. They weren't supposed to be talking to one another, not after his last 'episode', but it wasn't like he ever did what he was 'supposed to' and those three snobs only followed rules when someone was around to pat them on the head for it.

"Wallabee Beatles," they returned 'pleasantries', "How nice to see you. Here we thought you were gone for good. Pray tell, what _idiot_ let _you_ back in the school?"

Tilting his head downward to obscure his features, Wally closed his eye tightly. He was trembling, he knew, and he swallowed hard against the rising bile in his throat. A girl with twin braids flickered through his thoughts, her pale eyes accentuated by large silver-rimmed glasses.

"What's the matter, Wallabee?" the Wigglestein's continued, not sounding at all concerned in their unified speech, "You don't look so good."

"Let me ask you a question," Wally snapped, flashing green on the sickly obedient teenagers before him, "Whatever happened to your sister?"

The Wigglesteins exchanged looks once more, expressions darkening, brows furrowed. Wally tried to appear undaunted. He could see her, squat and ashen mocha colored skin, standing just to Butch, the blond boy's, left. Younger, though, twelve maybe.

Wally's shoulders were shaking visibly and he gripped his right bicep with his left hand, digging fingernails into flesh.

"What sister?" the three replied, any sadistic mirth gone from their tones. She was there, Wally saw her. He grimaced, wondered why could he see her, as he pushed himself harder into the brick wall. He could feel himself slipping. They needed to leave or he wouldn't be able to control what happened next.

"You know…" he mumbled, "The short, fat one."

Three mouths pursed into thin disapproving lines.

"We don't have a sister," they said haughtily, taking a step forward. Wally dug his right hand, a tight fist, into his sweater pocket, his shuddering body pressed entirely against the wall, "What's the matter, Wallabee? Is your mind playing tricks on you again? Are you having problems with your _memory _perhaps?"

"Wally," a familiar voice called and the Wigglestein siblings faltered, turning their heads as one to the redhead that was quickly descending upon them.

The shaken Aussie sidestepped away, backing up a few steps towards his friend and taking a few deep, steadying breaths. The urge to do something violent slightly subsided. Mack came to a stop in front of Wally, blue eyes glancing curiously between him and the three delightful children.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," the redhead informed the blond. He gave the Wigglesteins another puzzled look before saying, "I was about to head to homeroom. You coming?"

"Uh…yeah…sure," Wally stammered, rubbing at the back of his neck and composing himself.

Silently, he thanked the other boy, as the two of them walked away towards the school entrance. He decided he could look for Balooka at lunchtime. Right now he needed to lay his head down, maybe stop by the restrooms and splash some water in his face.

Problems with memory. Mind playing tricks.

Wally sighed. The medication was definitely not working.

* * *

AN: Hm...I love Mushi. I wasn't too excited about the Joey/New Sector V moment. Nigel was originally going to just step up to Ernest threateningly and then I thought, "he's already established he ain't a fighter and we all know he ain't stupid," so I came up with the cellphone bit. I think it played out nicely. And then Wally angst...which is more just angry thoughts. His scene was just missing a statement from him along the lines of, "I'm getting angry...you won't like me when I'm angry." LOL. Oh, I need sleep or less caffeine or some combo of both...gah, I have a feeling this chapter is terrible and I'm just too tired to tell!

Anyhoo...let me know what you think! Oh yeah, and how come no one said anything about why there were only three Delightful Children when they were introduced in Abby's first big chapter?!?


	12. Chapter 11

AN: SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG!!! Gah, I feel horrible for leaving you guys hanging like that. Anyhoo, so, I litarally rewrote parts of this chapter like 3 times and I'm still not entirely happy with it. Anyway, next chapter is broken down in my mind perfectly...(I think...) so I should be able to write that one with ease. Read up! :)

* * *

Chapter 11:

"…alright, later girls!" Cree called over her shoulder, parting from her friends and jogging up the cement steps to her dorm. She was dressed in loose sweats from her morning workout at the school gym, a banana-strawberry-lemon smoothie in hand and her hair held back in a short ponytail. Her first class of the day didn't start for another hour and a half, which was perfect as she had a few things to take care of that morning.

After a quick ten-minute shower and a change of clothes, and without so much a glance at her still slumbering roommate, Cree was out the door once more with cell phone in hand and a totebag on her shoulder. She typed a quick morning greeting to her little sister and sent it on its way as she confidently strode down the hall and out the dormitory.

Cree was an economics major at Dartmouth College in her sophomore year, having celebrated her nineteenth birthday over the summer at home. She was what some people would colloquially call an "overachiever", having graduated Valedictorian from high school with several academic medallions and cords of prestige as well as placement in the yearbook under the title "Most Likely to Succeed".

Having gained entry into several of the top universities across the country with loads of scholarships to boot, Cree had literally been given her pick of a future and she aimed for Wall Street and politics. First year at Dartmouth she hit the ground running, taking her professors by storm and gaining quite the crowd of friends. Straight A's all year, as well as a Student body position, and participation in several university clubs. She was sass and brass in Marc Jacob boots with a Starbuck's coffee in one hand and the world in the other.

And she had a deep, dark, secret.

The old science building was not one of Cree's usual haunts and she glanced over her shoulder nervously for any curious onlookers before entering. The hallway was dank, despite breaking daylight outside, a long spindly corridor leading beyond her vision with yellow light bulbs buzzing overhead. Many of the classrooms were unlit, though some emitted eerie lights, sparklers, and strange noises through tiny windowpanes on the door.

Shouldering the tote, Cree took a moment to readjust her bra and steel her nerves before strutting boldly down the hallway. She couldn't make out much in the classrooms she passed, just darting movements and silhouetted outlines of unknown figures, so she simply scanned the room numbers and moved on. There came a scream in the distance and she froze, muscles tense, heart pounding, breath bated.

Seconds ticked by and nothing happened.

Taking a deep breath, Cree wrapped her fingers tightly about the totebag strap and started forward again. As she walked on she started to notice little details about her surroundings, the yellowing of the walls, the purplish black stains on the tiled floor, the odd green and purple glows coming from various lecture rooms. She couldn't allow herself to be daunted, however. Backing down had never been an option for her, though lately she was starting to think it might be a character flaw rather than the strength she had always claimed it as.

Reaching the end of the hall, Cree found herself staring up an ancient staircase complete with cobwebs and a layer of dust. She swallowed hard, rested a tentative hand on the banister, and placed her weight on the first step. It let out a great groan. Slowly, carefully, she ascended the staircase as it creaked and moaned beneath her every move. She almost leapt to the top floor, relieved to be on a more 'solid' ground and once more found herself staring down a hallway similar to the first floor. Taking another deep breath and another moment to straighten her clothes and hair, she began her trek through the building again.

For all the ominous looking doors she'd passed the door to Room 2040 was surprisingly normal. Once more glancing over her shoulders, she forewent the formal knock, twisted the knob and shoved the heavy oak door inward.

Then bit back a scream.

Everywhere in the room was horror. Jagged cutlery and surgical tools crusted red and black, and jars of organic material; some identifiable, some not so much. Things like floating eyes with stems still attached, sickly gray brains, and even a tongue, most of which seemed human. Much of the room was metal and machinery, a great steel slab table in the center, electrical conduits fizzing with energy, computer monitors constantly scrolling with information. There was a giant tube filled to the brink with green goop and inside appeared to be a vaguely human figure.

To the back of the room stood a slightly hunched, plump man, balding on top with orange curls and a beard. He was dressed in pristine white lab clothes, a hard green encasing across his back looked similar to a turtle shell. With yellow rubber gloves on his hands and large plastic goggles over his face, he appeared to be working on something at the far back counter where looping tubes and beakers holding colorful unknown liquids were neatly lined up. He lifted one beaker filled with something purple, and then a flask with a small sliver of something organic within and tipped the beaker.

Purple poured over fleshy meat and it sizzled and writhed as though in pain, a bit of ghastly lavender fume rising from out of the flask and dissipating in the air. It sounded as though it were screaming, though that may have just been the screech of pressurized air being released.

The professor seemed to notice his company then. Blinking several times, he placed the equipment back down and lifted up his eyewear to the top of his head. Cree shifted her weight from one foot to the other at the door.

"This is a private lab," he shouted across the room, "If you want to sign up for Advanced Biochemistry, you'll have to do so in the registrar's office. I'm much too busy to deal with students."

Cree shrank back from the man's words at first only to remind herself why she was there and who exactly she was. She cleared her throat and, in perhaps too high-pitched a squeak then she would have liked, yelled reply, "Professor Triple Extra Large?"

"What?" the professor squawked in frustration, throwing his goggles to the counter and coming round towards the irritating girl, "What is it? Are you deaf? Can you not understand? I don't deal with students, you'll have to go to…"

"My name is Cree Lincoln," she cut in, her voice so sharp it caused the professor to falter, "_Father_ sent me."

The man visibly blanched. He swallowed hard.

"Oh," he murmured, starting dazedly back towards his experiment, "I suppose you're here then…about…_that_."

"Yes, I am," she confirmed, touching a hand to her tote, "I have the results from the final test with me…as well as a…sample."

She shuddered at the last word.

"I see…" the professor murmured, "And what was the final outcome of Father's latest little experiment…?"

Cree let a cruel smile slip over her features as she handed the bag over from off her shoulder, "Success."

Professor XXXL nodded apathetically at that, accepting the tote forlornly and laying it on the counter with his multicolored beakers and flasks. He didn't appear as satisfied as the young woman.

"Excellent," he replied in a distant tone that suggested her answer were anything but, "I suppose that means everything is ready for delivery."

"Preparations are coming along perfectly," Cree replied casually, "Not that it's any of your concern. But the package will be shipped on time."

The professor had opened the tote, lifting out a folder thick with paper work and laid it out on the counter. He peered inside the bag and drew his breath in a sharp gasp at what remained.

His young companion inquired, "You'll be able to use that for the last adjustment, correct?"

"…yes."

"Good. Father will be pleased. Scheduled shipment is in a week, be sure to have it done _before _then," Cree told him, turning towards the door, "It's been a pleasure."

"Ah," Professor XXXL started, and Cree paused with her hand precariously balanced on the doorknob. The mad scientist turned slightly so that his gaze was steadily leveled on her, "Do you happen to know what he plans on doing with the…um…earlier experiments?"

Cree pursed her lips into a thin line, warning, "That's not your concern either, Triple Extra Large, just concentrate on what you're being paid to do."

Without another word, Cree slipped from the room, firmly closing the door behind her, and hurried down the stairs. A vibration in her back pocket alerted her to a phone message and she sighed pleasantly, tugging the device out in expectance of a friendly response from her sister. Instead, she found herself scowling at the ID for an incoming call. She pressed answer and held the phone to her ear.

"Talk to me," she hissed, exiting the science building.

"We have…" a trembling voice hesitantly stammered, "A situation."

"What _kind_ of a situation?" Cree demanded, storming along the sidewalk back towards the dorms to get her books for class. There came an audible gulp from the other end of the line. Cree's cruel confidence was returning now that she was back in her own element.

"Well, you know the…um…teen you sent for the last…er…thing we need to…uh…complete…delivery?"

"Uh, yeah. What about him?"

"He…um…well…he…uhh…how do I put this? He…um…"

"_Sims_," Cree whispered threateningly.

"He's gone."

Gone. Stopping dead, Cree silently cursed herself. It had been too much to hope that this entire operation go without a hitch. She had no one to blame but herself, however.

After all, she should have known better than to trust _that_ guy.

-5-4-3-2-1-

There was something about the way Ricky kissed that drew all of the blood to Fanny's cheeks. It made every thought in her mind rush all at once to the forefront and caused her to become entirely aware not only of herself but of everyone and everything around them. She would panic at times wondering where she should put her hands and how she was supposed to be moving her mouth. Then she would worry that she wasn't doing it right and she would worry about what everyone else was seeing and she would worry that they were laughing and she would worry that if she spent too much time worrying she would screw up the romantic moment. Then she would worry that she already had.

Ricky always seemed so confident in the way he drew Fanny forward and locked his lips with her own. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing, where to place his hands, how to move his mouth, how to appear casual and ardent all at once. Then he would settle back into whatever he'd been doing prior as though nothing out-of-the-ordinary had transpired.

Like that morning.

Fanny had skirted towards the fancy blond and his troupe only to find her wrist enclosed in long, soft, slender fingers, jerking her into a mouth crushing fervor. They were like that for what seemed forever to the bashful redhead, who was painstakingly aware of the coos coming from Ricky's nearby friends. Then he broke away, his saliva still moist on her bottom lip, and turned back to the conversation he'd been sharing with his group, arm wrapped possessively about her waist.

Taking a deep, butterflies-in-stomach settling breath, Fanny attempted to relax against her boyfriend, mentally running through all the recommendations she'd read the night before in Cosmo magazine on "how to please a man". Unfortunately, nothing school appropriate came to mind and the things she could recall did very little to diminish the deep rouge across her cheeks. For the most part, she had come to think of the magazine as useless codswallop but it was what attractive and desirable girls read and Fanny really wanted to be attractive and desirable.

Smoothing out the skirt she was wearing that showed off more of her pasty white legs than she was comfortable with, Fanny decided to focus her attention on the conversation. She fantasized about dazzling the group with a witty remark on the topic at hand only to find, as usual, she had no clue what anyone was talking about. So she slumped her shoulders, slipping down beside Ricky, and tried to look unassuming and petite.

Fanny stood a bit over the average height, almost an inch above Ricky, though; most people were more wont to describe him as short rather than her as tall. And even though she was slim and fit, her shoulders were a tad broad, giving her what she considered a masculine form, though "athletic" was probably a more accurate term. Not to mention, she came in just short of a B-cup translating in her mind to "flat as a pancake". In all honesty, she couldn't figure why someone with Ricky's looks and charms would even talk to her, let alone, want to date her.

It probably didn't help that most of Ricky's friends were girls. In fact, aside from his flamboyant best-friend Brand, they all were. Fanny hated it. An entire gaggle of twittering twats giggling and flirting with her pretty boyfriend. And while it may have been the small of her back that his hand was on, she constantly felt as though she were competing with those girls for his attention.

They shared Ricky's interests; theater, classical music, philosophy, fashion, and art. They knew what he meant by "al frescos" and "fly-lofts". They gave great advice on which books to read and what CDs to buy. They enjoyed going to galleries, discussed the latest plays or Broadway musicals knowledgeably. They were always prim and perfect, wearing skirts and high-heels, all the latest fashions. They laughed at his jokes, he laughed at theirs.

And they always, always, always knew what the bloody hell he was talking about.

Sure, Fanny was at Ricky's side, but those girls had his attention. So she attempted to listen while Muffy droned on about an art exhibit on Paul Seitsema at a place she referred to as the MOMA. She kept talking excitedly about "Figure 3" and how moving she found the artist's 16mm display. And Fanny tried to be interested when puffy haired Valerie mentioned her own summer spent in Venice and her trip to Ca' Pesaro. All the while, Fanny fidgeted with her hair and her blouse, wishing she had Angelie's beautiful expressional amber eyes or Allison's perfect tan and silken locks.

"We had to go visit Yankee stadium and Meadowsland stadium while we were in New York also," Muffy muttered, irritated, "My brother wanted to go to a Jets game…did you know people paint themselves for those things?"

"You poor dear," Angelie said with a click of her tongue, examining her nails painted violet.

"What a waste of time," Ricky sympathized, shaking his head, "Honestly, what the uncouth masses like about watching sports I will never know. What exactly is so exciting about grown men chasing an oddly shaped ball around and violently slamming into one another?"

Fanny shifted uncomfortably, glancing away as her eyes stung at the comment, and biting her tongue. Ricky knew she loved watching football games with her father. It was one of the few things the two could bond over; cheering for their favorite teams or shouting at the opposition while enjoying a great big bowl of popcorn, or nachos, and plates of corn dogs, with giant glasses of ice cold cola. She loved the thrill of interceptions that make it all the way down the field for a game ending touchdown and the adrenaline rush of the defense lineman sacking the quarterback on an impossible play, putting the underdog back in the game. The sights, the sounds, the raggedy old jerseys her father passed down to her, were all happy memories that her 'loving' boyfriend easily dismissed with one biting remark.

"Hey, Ricky, will you be going to the poetry reading on Friday?" Muffy suddenly questioned, "I've written something new for the night."

The pretty blond smiled, opening his mouth to respond only to choke back the words as his bright eyes caught sight of an advancing figure. Everyone fell silent, turning their focus in the same direction. Fanny's heartbeat quickened. Great, just what she needed. A follow-up from Monday morning. She pursed her lips, narrowed her eyes, and curled her fingers into tight fists; several sharp insult lay ready on her tongue.

But Patton didn't stop in his march towards the school, breezing by the couple he liked to torment without so much a glance. Rachel hurriedly following at his heel. Ricky turned back to his friends with a shrug, saying jokingly, "Speaking of wastes of time…" and the girls burst into giggles then settled back into their conversation.

Fanny wasn't listening, her eyes following the retreating football star. In the entire time she had known Patton, those dark eyes had never passed over her before. And while she realized what she should have been feeling was relief at not having to face the usual verbal assault, the ache in her chest suggested some other emotion that she couldn't quite put her finger on and she wasn't sure she liked.

One thought, however, rang clear in her mind. How dare he ignore her.

-1-2-3-4-5-

Connecting a computer to the school network was a quick and easy task for someone like Hoagie. But there was something about those soft doe eyes watching interestedly, those long well-formed legs positioned just in his peripheral, and those perfectly manicured fingers drumming the table top that was causing quite a distraction for the usually efficient handy-man. Not to mention, the sound of muffled breathing coming from the pudgy boy standing next to him. Hoagie tilted his head just enough to eye Whistler warily at such an angle that Abigail couldn't see.

"Do you mind?" he hissed. Impossibly blue eyes widened slightly and the object of Hoagie's annoyance took a step back.

However, when Hoagie turned his attention back on the wire mess behind the PC tower, Whistler shuffled forward once more, peering curiously over his shoulder and causing the taller boy to growl with exasperation. Whistler stepped back again, and so went their tango.

Abigail shook her head at the bumbling boys, not too impressed with their display. They'd already been in the journalism room for ten minutes, five of which Hoagie had spent telling Whistler where to stand and what not to do. She sighed, glancing to the clock. She had only made a small mention of lacking network connection on her computer earlier with Whistler and even though she wasn't all too surprised when he offered to get it set up for her – the boy always seemed so eager to help – she was beginning to regret taking him up on it. The task was taking longer than she'd hoped and she had things to do that morning.

Abby wasn't entirely certain why Hoagie was there. Whistler had only slyly explained that as soon as the boy in yellow tinted spectacles heard she was in need of assistance, he'd jumped to lend a hand. Which didn't sound like the Hoagie in her notes over the last three years. Sure, he helped out when asked but he was careful, perhaps excessively so, to not overstep any boundaries. And though he'd been known to act the fool for girls he had an eye on, Abby had assumed his crush-of-the-year was Patricia Juni. However, regardless if that were true or not one thing was certain, it was definitely not her.

After all, Hoagie's track record suggested his type was adorable, soft-spoken, lace and frill, somewhat dim but oh so saccharine. Abigail was the absolute opposite of all that; a hard-hitting tomboy, quick as a whip, sharp tongued, cold and rigid. That's why her ex-boyfriend, Maurice, had ended things. She was too serious, he'd said, and uninviting. He had asserted that he wanted someone warm and feminine and, apparently, she wasn't either of those things.

Abigail watched the way Hoagie's t-shirt, decaled with some stupid phrase, draped across his back and shoulders while he worked at the computer, his loose jeans were rough and worn, scuffed leather work-boots on his feet. He'd turned the brown cap he wore outside of classes backwards on his head so its visor wasn't blocking his vision, copper strands of hair peeking out here and there. Yellow tinted glasses sufficiently blocked his eyes from view and his mouth was pulled into a taut frown. He'd lost a lot of weight since middle school, and Abby found she missed his roly-poly physique, it had given him an almost huggable teddy-bear appeal but that wasn't to say his current frame wasn't pleasing in its own way.

She turned her face, rubbing at her neck. Her cheeks warm. She imagined his wants weren't much different from Maurice.

"Could you just…go stand…over there," Hoagie growled with barely contained frustration, and Abby flickered her eyes back to the boys. The elder was pointing haughtily towards herself, the younger taking a few wary steps backwards.

Whistler came to lean next to Abigail, sighing and offering up a half-hearted smile, which she somewhat returned.

"Why are you letting him talk to you like that?" she questioned in a low whisper. The sophomore furrowed his brow.

"Don't worry about it, samurai, it doesn't bother me," he assured her.

Hoagie flinched at the statement, giving a quick furtive glance over his shoulder. He noted the nickname and wondered for the umpteenth time since lunch yesterday just how close those two were. They stood comfortably beside one another with little space between, he realized, Abby's body slightly turned toward the pudgy younger boy. Whistler whispered something and she smiled. Hoagie scowled at the wires in his hand, suddenly regretting sending the sophomore away

Baby blues flickered to the bespectacled boy then back to the lovely girl. Whistler chewed the corner of his bottom lip, brow furrowed in uncertainty.

"Ah…Hoagie," he started. Abby turned her gaze to the young man in question.

"I'm busy now."

"Well…I was just thinking…" Whistler attempted again.

"Then do it quietly. I'm trying to concentrate," Hoagie muttered. Abby rolled her eyes, folding her arms over her chest. Yellow tint flashed her direction then back to the computer. Haggardly he relented, "Okay. Fine. What?"

"Maybe…I don't know…you could tell us about your latest project," Whistler reluctantly suggested. Hoagie paused in his work, turning to fix a yellow-tinted glare on the young boy.

"What do you know about my…project?" he demanded, darting a meek glance to the young woman. She had a curious brow raised.

"Arthur…he mentioned that you…uh…build things," Whistler explained.

"Did he now?" Hoagie muttered in annoyance, shaking his head and his cheeks tinged pink.

It wasn't as though Abigail didn't know he was a bit of an inventor and hobby enthusiast. After all, Abby knew everything. It just wasn't really the kind of conversation he wanted to have with, arguably, the most popular girl at Willem High.

_Yes, I'm a nerd who spends Friday and Saturday nights alone in my garage gluing plywood fins to model rockets_, was an admission that didn't really sound all that impressive no matter who you were saying it to.

"You build things, junior," Abby repeated, bemusedly, "Are we talking…model airplane things? Or _Doctor Time Space in the Continuum _prop replica things?"

And now she was making fun of him. Excellent. That certainly didn't take very long.

Hoagie turned back to the computer, all necessary wires now hooked up. He pressed the power button and the machine whirred with life.

"I'm sure Hoagie builds really amazing things," Whistler commented, "Arthur says he's the smartest guy in school. He set up a really great inventory system for the AV room."

Hoagie winced.

"Yeah, it was so great that you just had to go and change it," he bit out. Whistler faltered.

"Just minor adjustments," the sophomore murmured.

"And while we're on the subject," Hoagie growled, spinning round angrily, "Why'd you go in after school yesterday and sort out that shipment. We were supposed to take care of it today. _Together_."

"Well…I…" Whistler swallowed hard then shrugged, "I had time…and I thought…I don't know, that it would help you out. You seem so busy."

Abigail looked between the two. Whistler pressed against the far wall, eyes studying the floor, Hoagie standing flabbergasted with his mouth agape and a twitch under his left eye. She pursed her lips and stepped forward, hands held up placating.

"Okay, that's enough. Junior…the guy was just doing you a favor. So he made a few changes to your system. Change it back. Problem solved. Its nothing to get your tighty-whities all in a bunch about," she reasoned.

Whistler fidgeted nervously, mumbling, "It's just that…it was really similar to how my dad had his workshop organized and…"

Abigail glanced to the younger boy with a soft expression that Hoagie didn't understand and really didn't like. She placed a tender hand on the pudgy sophomore's shoulder.

Hoagie scowled. Seriously, what was so charming about this kid?

Abby reeled back round and seethed, "Ease up on the him, will ya'? I don't know what your problem is but do you really have to be so harsh _every time_ you say something?"

"I…what? I'm not being…" Hoagie stammered then realizing how futile that argument was he narrowed his eyes and growled, "Well, I would ease up if he would just stop bothering me!"

Even though Whistler flinched at that statement, he said to Abigail, "Really, samurai, it's alright. I don't mind." Which seemed to rile the feisty editor all the more and caused Hoagie to groan inwardly. And the prize for best pitiable act goes to…

"And what exactly is he doing that's bothersome?" Abby demanded, "Would it be the polite conversation, the honest interest, or the altruistic attempts to help you out?"

Hoagie sputtered a moment. Of course this entire conversation was turning out bad for him. He wracked his brain a moment then spat out, "All of the above! Sorry if I'm not eagerly jumping on the "Everybody Loves Whistler" bandwagon but I've never been much of a joiner. I don't want his interest and I certainly don't need _his _help."

Abby narrowed her eyes to dangerous slits and placed her hands on her hips.

"It's a wonder you don't have more friends," she hissed cynically.

"Well, at least I didn't have to blackmail the one's I've got," he muttered reply.

A dark look passed over Abby's expression for just long enough to make Hoagie regret his words. She turned away, shaking her head.

"Whatever. I'm out of here. Later, Whistler," she mumbled, snatching up her tote and swiftly exiting the room. Hoagie slumped against the desk and rubbed a hand furiously over his cheeks.

Whistler was pressed to the back wall wearing the expression of a deer caught in headlights.

"Hoagie…I'm so…so sorry…I…"

"Look, kid," Hoagie cut in, fixing the sophomore with a hard glare, "I don't know what your game is…but I'm not playing." With that, he grabbed his own bag and exited the room as well.

Abigail stormed down the hallway, flustered and raging, as students scurried out of her way. This was why she couldn't be in the same room as _that guy_, she reminded herself. It only took two words out of his mouth and she was ready to claw his throat out. No matter. She pushed it from her mind. She had other things to do.

She threw the door to her homeroom open and surveyed its occupants through bleary eyes while ignoring the bewildered stares she was receiving. It took her a moment to regain enough composure to process her surroundings. The door behind her opened and closed again.

Jerry was in the back of class reading from a large science journal and jotting tiny comments down in a spiral notebook. Fanny and Ricky were talking in low voices near the back corner of the room. The redhead looked a little flustered but her boyfriend didn't appear concerned. Kuki was sitting with her back to Ace and the Hispanic seemed to be pleading with her. Patty was on the other side, appeared to be consoling the Asian.

"Looks like trouble in paradise," Hoagie's voice muttered at Abigail's ear to no one in particular and she felt her temper flare again. She spotted her target of the morning, a girl sitting at the desk by the window scanning articles in a colorful fashion magazine.

Abigail strode forward confidently, dropping her bag to the floor, and straddling the back of the empty seat in front of the carrot-topped girl dressed in white. From the corner of her eye, she saw Hoagie trudging to his own desk near the center of the room, slumping down, and burying his face in the crook of his arm.

Cerulean eyes framed in silver narrowed on the intrepid reporter, "Can I help you?"

"Yes, Lizzie, you can. You and I need to have a little chat about Jimmy," Abigail replied slyly, pushing angry thoughts of the nerd king from her mind.

After all, she was a busy woman and she certainly wasn't going to let a little early morning spat put her off her priorities.

-5-4-3-2-1-

Lee watched the pretty blonde with well-hidden interest as she bent over the fountain for a drink. His ever present yo-yo rolling down then springing up to his waiting hand easily. The two had been wandering the halls looking for Tommy to no avail. They'd finally decided to simply give up. Though it was obvious in the shimmer of Sonya's lightly colored eyes that she was worried for their wayward friend, and Lee could empathize.

Admittedly, the two teens thought of Hoagie as a big brother. He was kind and sweet, always looked to include them whenever possible, and, for Lee, way more awesome than his actual older brother. But neither of them had been quite as blind as Tommy to the older boy's flaws.

It was heart wrenching, Lee was certain, to learn that one's hero wasn't the person imagined

Sonya finished her drink and stepped up towards her naturally taciturn friend, folding her arms over her stomach and smiling somberly.

"Should we keep looking or…?"

Lee shook his head and Sonya sighed, nodding acceptance.

"You're right. He just needs time to himself," she murmured. Lee gestured with his head and started forward, the blonde falling into step beside him.

Tommy, Sonya, and Lee had been the best of friends since the middle of seventh grade and while they all considered their bonds with one another strong, it was apparent to each of them that Tommy was the center of their relationship. He was their anchor; their ringleader so to speak. After all, he had been the one to originally draw the three together.

Before meeting the other two, Lee couldn't really recall ever having any strong friendships. He couldn't explain it. Couldn't put words to it. Couldn't define it. That connection he felt to both Tommy and Sonya and even to Harvey and Shaunie to lesser degree, both of which had joined their group later in the eighth grade, was so powerful that at times it scared him.

For whatever reason, Lee knew he would follow Tommy anywhere. And Sonya, sweet and excitable, he trusted implicitly above all else. As soon as those two had entered his life, it was as though they'd been there all along.

"I just wish there were more we could do for him," Sonya lamented, her voice more high-pitched than usual, "I mean, what if he runs into that bully again?"

Lee shrugged. There wasn't really much they could do. According to Tommy, there had been several older boys at the main bully's back. And even though Lee would stoically stand by his friend no matter what, he knew he would just be standing there while they both got their lunch money stolen or their heads flushed.

"I guess we don't stand much of a chance against that group of jerks," Sonya sighed, shaking her head angrily, golden blonde locks fluttering about her face.

Lee found himself staring. Again. He couldn't help it. She'd gotten so much prettier over the years, not that he hadn't found her stunning when they'd first met. There was light and beauty in everything she did from the way she talked to the way she moved to the way she dressed and laughed and…he blinked, strummed his yo-yo a few times while forcing his eyes forward. She was also one of his two best-friends in the entire world and he knew thinking those kinds of thoughts made him no better than the jerks he hated that hit on her then broke her heart.

"What do you think about Leo?" Sonya questioned, seemingly from nowhere and Lee paused, heart thudding wickedly in his chest. He wondered at the sudden curiosity, glancing to her as she was busy twirling a golden strand of hair around a finger.

"He's…" he began, thoughtful.

"Interesting," she finished, catching him off-guard. Another cruel heart beat.

"I guess."

"Did you notice," she started, pausing to face her friend, dropping her voice to a low whisper, "That he never answered anything about himself?"

Lee nearly toppled over in relief. Oh, she meant interesting as in strange interesting not as in…any other kind of interesting. He managed to stay standing however and hold his face in its usual apathy while giving her a slight shrug as response.

"He would only make a joke or dodge the questions," she went on, "And did you notice how he kept looking at Hoagie?"

"Uh…" Lee shrugged again.

It was amazing how many little details Sonya picked up on for all her ditzy airs. But the girl did suffer from a small case of OCD, slight enough so as not to be debilitating but predominant enough that as they spoke she was counting every locker they passed. Should she, for whatever reason, believe she'd skipped a locker they would have had to turn back to the front of the school so as she could start her count over. It was a trait that Lee, whose personality his friends could sum up in two words; patient and understanding, thought was an entirely adorable quirk. He winced, silently reprimanding himself for his not-so-platonic musings.

"It was almost like…like, I don't know," Sonya murmured ponderously, "It was strange though. It felt sort of…as though he didn't come to see the rocket launch…like he just came to see Hoagie. Which is really weird, right? Because he doesn't know Hoagie. He couldn't, could he? I mean, he told us he just moved here."

"Tommy doesn't trust him," Lee finally spoke up. Maybe he didn't catch the many oddities of a stranger, but he was more than adept at reading his best friend.

His announcement seemed to be all the proof Sonya needed of her suspicions and she gave a firm nod of the head, her eyes narrowed in concentration.

Lee inquired, "So…what do you want to do about it?"

"We should ask Tommy," Sonya suggested, "See what he says. He'll know what to do. He always knows what to do."

She was right. If anyone could come up with a plan of action for handling this situation it was definitely their rotund friend.

"Cool," Lee conceded.

The two began down the hall once more. Sonya wondering if she were simply being paranoid about Leo as she reached one hundred lockers in her mental count. Lee wondering if brushing that stray strand of blonde out of her face would be crossing the just-friends line. All the while, a yo-yo expertly dribbled through the air.

-1-2-3-4-5-

In the dark sluicing shadows beneath stadium style bleachers, a thin chain dangled in the light breeze, entwined around long bony fingers. Gold ring charms glinted in what little light streamed through the metal benches stacked one on top of the other. Sickeningly pale orbs, like the eyes of a dead fish, watched an exchange in the distance between a blond haired boy and a petite dark eyed girl as chapped lips made sucking noises against teeth.

They spoke. They blushed. They fidgeted. They laughed. Their desires lay bare. He longed to touch her. She longed to be touched.

A crunch in the grass from behind and fish eyes darted to a figure masked by shadow with a slender object in hand, like a club. Its head sizzled electric.

"What time ticks by…?" a voice raspy as dry leaves rustling in the wind whispered through cracked mouth, between bone fingers a golden ring was rolled, "My favorite…broken…dream."

The newcomer expertly twirled the electrical weapon and between gritted teeth bit out, "Not this time, _devourer_."

Chain of rings swung up into open bone hand, and glassy fish eyes gleamed, withered tongue clucking, "Time…time…time…what _time_ ticks by…?"

With fleet yet soundless movements, the shadowed figure lunged.

* * *

AN: I bet you guys all thought that devourers were those slugs...either that or none of you cared about what a devourer was and were all just wondering when the next Wally/Kuki moment would be...oh well.

I really hope that no one takes offense to Ricky and his friends...I'm really trying not to place anyone in any certain stereotypical clique...what I mean is, I don't want it to seem as though I'm saying, "theater club kids all hate sports and love classical music" as I know that is not true. First of all, Ricky's friends aren't all theater clubs students, they're just girls that all share the same interests (likes and dislikes) as him. I also don't want anyone to think I'm hating on any one thing as; I love art (I am an artist), I love going to art galleries (the MOMA in San Fran is amazing!), I love theater, I love musicals (Cats is my favorite, and Seven Brides for Seven Brothers), I...can't really say I love poetry because I kind of don't...but hopefully you guys are getting my point. Maybe I should just write a disclaimer.

DISCLAIMER: The opinions expressed in this story are solely those of the characters themselves and do not reflect the beliefs nor are they ideas supported by the writer. Therefore, don't flame me! :P

I did not like the Hoagie/Abby scene and I'm really hoping he didn't come off as quite so big a jerk as I'm thinking he did.

Anyhoo...oh, Sonya being OCD was one of those things that, as I was writing the scene, just sort of popped in my head because for some reason it seemed to work for her character...

Let me know what you think!


	13. Chapter 12

A/N: Okie, so if you did not read my recent one-shot posting "If Only You" then you didn't get the announcment that I am, indeed, "Back". Yay, I'm back! And, HOLY HELL! The final count on reviews for last chapter: **30**. I cannot leave you guys alone for very long, now can I? Miss me a little, maybe? Oi vey, usually I like to personally thank every reviewer and respond to their comments, but I hope you guys will understand if, for now, I just give a general "THANK YOU ALL SO VERY MUCH, EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU IS INSANELY AWESOME!" and...you know...get to work on the next chapter.

So real quick, here's the good news: I don't have classes this semester, so I don't have homework to distract me from working on this story. Bad news: I do still work, and have a social life (sort of...), and I will be balancing this with working on my own original novel. Read as, updates will not be as frequent as they used to be. Which, I'm hoping everyone is just too excited by the knowledge that I'm back to working on this and it will be updated regularly to care how close together updates are.

Oh, and yes, everyone needs to thank Ulathon for this. My laptop that housed this story, yeah, the powercord was broke and I couldn't get energy to it. It was while responding to a private message sent by Ulathon that got the cogs in my brain turning and I realized if I could just get enough juice to my laptop to transfer this story and its notes onto a jumpdrive, then I could begin working on it again. Obviously, since I'm updating, it worked. So everyone say it, "Thank you Ulathon for reminding Numbuh702 to use her brain!"

Anyhoo, that's it for announcement. On to the main attraction...

* * *

Chapter 12:

Morning classes seemed to blur by for Wally as jumbled images played through his mind's eye of a girl that didn't exist, of a stubbed out cigarette with red lip stains abandoned on the family dinner table, and of hair dark as night streaked across porcelain skin. He had stopped at the bathroom between classes twice, splashing cold water in his face and thinking about leaving school. His parents would know in a heartbeat if he were suddenly gone, though. After all, the principle had his home number on speed-dial.

_We don't have a sister._

The three delightful siblings had spoken those inauspicious words in their usual unified monotone and hours later their voices still rung in Wally's ears. The girl he had pictured with them, with those long twin braids and silver-rimmed spectacles was nothing more than a figment of his sick, twisted mind. Only further proof that he was completely and irrevocably starkers. So he tried to shake the thoughts of the nonexistent sister away but it didn't work. It only made visions of her plague him all the more.

Worse, yet, the more he thought of her the more his head hurt. It felt as though a serrated blade were sawing into his skull. As though pieces of his brain were shifting, gray matter being ripped and rearranged.

He realized with a start that it wasn't the first time he'd ever felt that way.

A loud screeching erupted and Wally woke with surprise to find the third period dismissal bell was ringing and that it was lunch time. His mind was still swirling. He stood and stretched, waltzing from his desk towards the door.

The teacher fixed the Aussie with a dark glower but he shrugged it off, not certain what had crawled up her bum. He knew he couldn't have done anything wrong yet. It was only the second day of school and he'd slept through class the day before as well. He couldn't exactly cause trouble when he was asleep, now could he?

Wally exited the room and focused his thoughts on other, more pressing matters. Like that coming weekend. There were a lot of preparations that needed to be made. He caught sight of bright red and twinkling blue through the crowd and made his way over. Mack was rustling obscured objects in his locker, only to quickly slam shut the metal door and spin on heel when he heard Wally call greeting.

"Hey, Beatles," he said, a casual smirk slipping into place, "How's it going?"

"Alright," Wally answered. The two hadn't talked much all morning. During homeroom the redhead had seemed distracted and then Wally had business with Runt. They didn't share any other classes throughout the day.

"You on lunch?" Mack questioned, hitching his pack higher on his shoulder restlessly. Still distracted it seemed. Wally wondered at what was bothering the other boy. He thought to ask but decided against it. That was a line he didn't cross.

"Yeah. You?"

"Off to fourth period; math," Mack made a face and Wally could only offer a sympathetic smirk. "I hate second lunch, I'm always starving by dismissal."

"First ain't much better, mate. I'm never hungry at lunch but starving by fifth period."

The two boys nodded respectfully to one another and started their separate directions. Opening the lunchroom door and beginning inwards, Wally glanced Mack pausing in the hallway to talk with a mousy brunette.

Curious, Wally had never seen the redhead talking to many girls before, and it was only when they initiated the conversation. But Mack had grabbed hold of the brunette's elbow, forcibly halting her in the hall and whispering something that made her pale.

Wally shrugged it from his mind. He had better things to worry about than his acquaintance's love life.

Before leaving for military school middle of sophomore year there had been only one place at Willem High that Joe Balooka could be found during lunchtime and, luckily for Wally, the behemoth was a creature of habit.

Leaning against the back of the gym smoking a cigarette and sipping from a suspicious unlabeled bottle, stood burly Balooka surrounded by a few inebriated looking friends. He'd been a football player, quarterback even, and one of the school's best before a failed drug-test got him quietly kicked off the team and replaced by Patton Drilovsky. But he still looked the part, a couple heads taller than Wally and a body comprised entirely of raw muscle. He grinned at the approaching blond.

"Well, well, well, what've we got 'ere boys," Balooka announced, his friends glancing disinterestedly to Wally. None of them looked familiar to the newly arriving Aussie, but then, he didn't take the time to remember most people at school, after all, that took caring, an emotion Wally didn't use much.

"How's it going, Joe?" Wally greeted.

"Alright, alright," Balooka replied, his cheeks were splotched pink and his eyes slightly glazed, "What about you, ole pally o' mine?"

Wally shoved his hands into pockets and took a strong stance in front of Joe. He smirked, gave a shrug of his shoulders.

"Keen and mean as always, I see." Joe chuckled, he offered up the bottle and Wally took a sip, the bitter taste of cheap beer biting into his tongue as Joe took another drag from his cigarette, "Tell me, Beatles, what twit let you back into this hoosegow?"

"Got me, mate. Kind of wish the drongo hadn't though."

Joe barked out a laugh, "Gosh, I missed your ugly mug. It was a bad rap you took, real bad. You're a gunsel, yeah, but you ain't no patsy. If it'a been me running that show with ya'..."

"You'd of done the same."

"Got that right," Joe laughed again, tipping the ash off the end of his smoke, "I gotta say, I was hurt ya' didn't come see me when 'ya got back. Here I thought we was ol' pals."

Wally shifted his weight uncomfortably. It wasn't that he didn't like Joe, despite all his harsh chinwagging, the behemoth was a good guy. But he was part of a past that Wally had been trying to leave behind so when returning from military school Wally didn't make any efforts to reestablish a connection, something he had hoped would not come up in the conversation.

"Yeah, well...I had to keep my nose clean for a bit when I got back. You know how it is."

It wasn't altogether a lie.

Joe chuckled, "And somehow dropping a line to your ol' pal Joe would dirty that nose o'yours?"

Wally opened his mouth to protest but Joe waved it off with another short laugh.

"That's alright, Beatles, really. If I was gonna try walking the straight and narrow, I'd stop associating with me too."

Wally smirked. Joe really was a good guy for being a juvenile delinquent.

"Of course, since you're here, I'm guessing you ain't so concerned with keeping that nose spic and span anymore, am I right?"

"That's right," Wally confirmed, folding his arms over his chest and leering at the friendly hoodlum in front of him, demeanor all-business, "Folks are out of town and I'm having a party this weekend at my place. Huge blowout, ya know?"

"Welcome home shindig, eh? I dig. And, what, you're here to deliver my invite personally? Flattered, Beatles, I am," Joe teased.

"Well you're such a good friend, Balooka," Wally replied in jest, "Wouldn't be right to mail it." He cleared his throat, "Seriously, though, I'm in need of provisions and your the best supplier in town."

Balooka took a long drag from his cigarette, bobbing his head as though this were an expected turn of events. The smoke lilted from his nostrils and seeped through slightly parted lips. His family owned the local grocery store, one of the few in town with a liquor license, which gave him easy access to party essential merchandise and made him a highly sought after friend by the social crowd.

"Funny. I could've sworn I had heard that goombah, Ernie, was having a party this weekend. Some big networking gig." It was evident in his tone what Joe was implying. Wally shrugged, rolled his eyes.

"Yeah. Alright. I admit it. This party thing was Ernie's idea."

"Jeez, Beatles," Balooka groaned, shaking his head and taking another hit from his cigarette, "Maybe I was wrong about you not being a patsy."

"I ain't a patsy and before you get to asking, Ernie and I ain't working together again. This is _just_ a party," Wally rebuked, but even he didn't sound convinced. Joe gave Wally a hard look and Wally sighed, "Ernie wants to use it to form connections. I just want to have fun, maybe break a few of my mum's favorite vases."

"Right," Joe muttered, "Okay, Beatles, I'll throw ya' a bone, but it ain't for that hotshot, Ernie. If he tries to get a hook in me, I'm out. I ain't making deals with the two-face, we clear?"

"Crystal."

"Good. So what can I set ya' up with?"

Wally gave a hard sniff, "I figure the usual."

Joe nodded shortly and then suddenly tossed away his cigarette and straightened significantly, his focus somewhere over Wally's shoulder. The Aussie tipped his head around and scowled at the approaching blonde with her hair pulled back and Cat's Eye glasses perched neatly on her severely pointed nose. The prim newcomer stopped a few feet away from the huddled group of suspicious-looking boys and cleared her throat.

"Wallabee Beatles," she said authoritatively.

Wally moaned, "Aw...come on, Anna, it's only the second day of school! I ain't done nothing yet."

"Not the way the Wigglesteins tell it."

A sharp pain cut across Wally's vision. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves, running a hand over his forehead and tightening the other into a fist.

"The Wigglesteins? Now I know I haven't done anything to those delightful dummies. I would be feeling a lot less cruddy today if I had."

Anna shook her head, and checked a clipboard in her hand, attached to which were several Dean slips scribbled on in her own curly-cued handwriting. She pursed her lips.

"According to the Wigglesteins, you were harassing them this morning before homeroom near the quad...and...that you threatened them..were very hostile..." She gave Wally a reproachful once over as though she could determine his guilt based on appearances alone, "Dean says you're to report to the office immediately."

Wally sighed. "Whatever. Those five are such goody-goodies, don't matter what I say..."

"Five?" Anna quirked a brow. Wally eyed her and swallowed hard. Did he just say five?

"Did I just say five? I meant...four."

"Three, Beatles, there are only three Wigglestein siblings," Anna corrected, impatiently tapping her foot. She darted a glare Balooka and his boys' direction, all of whom were feigning disinterest, before questioning in a low whisper, "I know math is not one of your strongest subjects but...have you not been taking your medication?"

Wally glared at her, "Did you want to escort me to the Dean or go over the personal information that you weren't supposed to read about in my permanent records?"

Shaken, Anna blushed furiously and motioned the boy forward. She fell in step behind him.

"Nosy sheila..."

-5-4-3-2-1-

_The beach on a blistering hot day. Sand crinkling between bare toes. Pearl white shells tinged pink and gold. Castle turrets crumbling into sparkling grains with the wind. A boy with shaggy blond hair armed with a shovel._

Kuki blinked the vision away and swept a few unshed tears up into thin black lashes. She leaned against the roughly textured school wall and watched across the field, all to aware she was staring. After spotting him in the halls talking to the red-haired boy, she hadn't meant to follow him, but her feet had carried her as though drifting through a dream.

Ever since their encounter that morning, all Kuki could think of were not-quite memories of a small, blond boy familiar to but not exactly like brusque, well-formed Wallabee Beatles. As well, her conversation with Wally and the subsequent argument with Ace, kept replaying through her mind.

..._you don't even know the guy._

The words had been a harsh reminder that those happy images were nothing more than figments of her imagination. Kuki grimaced, wrapped her arms around her slender body. She and Wally had never been friends, never been comrades, never known one another outside of school or occasional glimpses during Bring-Your-Daughter-to-Work Day.

_Don't forget me._

Wally was speaking with Joe Balooka. She could see his face, eyes obscured as usual with golden bangs, from her vantage point. When he talked his mouth was pulled in a slight frown and she thought, if she didn't know him, then how could she clearly hear his voice as he spoke wearing that expression. He smirked at something Joe said, and she wondered how she knew that he was holding back, that the mirth in his smile wasn't quite reaching his eyes, if she didn't know him.

"Not your typical hangout, is it, Miss Sanban?"

Kuki startled then smiled politely at the newcomer. Somehow Anna Worthington had snuck up on her, a pleasant smile in place on her face. The two girls weren't exactly friends, but had worked together in the past on dance committees and in plays.

"Oh no," Kuki giggled, flicking a few stray black strands from her face, "I was just getting fresh air. You know...the cafeteria is kind of stuffy. Lot a people in there."

Anna rolled her eyes, nodding agreement, but pointing out, "The world is a crowded place, Miss Sanban. Its full of people looking to elbow their way to the top, and they'll stand on your shoulders to do it, shove you right into the ground. Only way to beat them is to knock them out of the way before they do the same to you."

"Um...but that doesn't sound very nice," Kuki exclaimed, making a face, "What about friends? If you have friends then you don't need to worry about..."

"Friends," Anna scoffed, "Friends are the first to stab you in the back, Miss Sanban. Take your friend Patty for example."

Kuki's brow scrunched, "Patty...?"

"Yes, Patricia Juni. You had a monopoly on the cute, sweet, vulnerable girl routine, when out of nowhere, little Miss Juni appears working the same campaign."

"Well...I don't think that's an act, silly. Patty really is cute, sweet and..."

Anna waved a hand at Kuki, shaking her head and clucking her tongue in disappointment, "Please, Miss Sanban. Even _you_ aren't that dense. Trust me, I know a well-crafted public image when I see it; after all, I have put together James's campaign for class president every year since the third grade."

Kuki chewed her bottom lip, pouting at the pavement. She thought of the car ride home the day before, that dark look in Patty's eyes. It had just been one of many such incidences that had given the usually trusting Asian cause for pause.

"You _do_ know what I mean, then. It makes you wonder, doesn't it?" Anna went on eagerly, "If Patty isn't really this cute, sweet, vulnerable girl; then who exactly is she?" The blonde glanced across the field and frowned, "Something for you to chew on, Miss Sanban. It's been a pleasure, but I must be going." She lifted her clipboard as evidence and explained, "An office aide's work is never done."

Sloe eyes distantly trailed retreating Anna as Kuki pondered their brief conversation. She wondered at the seeming advice, or warning was it?

_Who exactly is Patty?_

Kuki didn't like the implication that her good friend was not all she seemed. If it was all just an act, then what might her motive be? Suddenly, Kuki recalled Patty flustering the other day at the suggestion of having a crush, of her comment about not finding Kuki and Ace to be a good couple, of the note Ace had passed in class. She felt a wash of relief and knowing.

"She must like Ace," Kuki decided aloud. She made a silent note to talk to Patty about it later, give the shy girl the go ahead, and help her out in any way possible.

Anna came to a halt near Wally and Kuki felt a flash of envy. She watched as the office aide casually talked to an obviously annoyed Aussie and found herself overcome with worry and...worse...longing. Why wasn't it as easy for her to just walk over there and chat with the boy?

"Kuki, I've been looking everywhere for you."

Again, the dark haired girl startled, spinning round with a red tinge to her cheeks. It seemed the day's theme was sneaking up on Kuki. She had missed Ace approaching and now he stood bashful a few feet away.

In a brevity of blind rage and hurt, she reminded herself of that morning and that she had been chatting casually with the blond boy who now felt forever away. He had stood so close, she could touch him. He had looked at her, spoken words to her, smiled at her. It cut into her mind, a silver streak of pain. They had been talking, it had felt so perfect, and then the reality of their social differences had rudely crashed around them and he had been driven away and the cause now stood smiling uncertainly down at her and she couldn't even muster the strength to be sweet and cheerful.

"What do you want, Carlos?" Kuki spat, attempting a fierce glare his direction but only managing a menacing pout. Ace sighed.

"You're still mad at me, I see," he shook his head, frustrated, "Kuki, I've apologized. I don't know what else you want me to say."

"I already told you, I'm not the one that you should apologize to," Kuki replied, her tone lightening. Okay, so she wasn't hard-wired for anger.

"Him? You want me to say 'I'm sorry' to _him_? Kuki, you know I can't stand the guy," Ace protested, then muttered, "I don't understand why you're so defensive of him," in a pained tone that suggested he had a few hunches.

The unspoken accusation pounded in her heart and Kuki looked away, bit her bottom lip, and scrambled for an excuse.

"You were mean to him, for no reason. I don't like when people are mean," she lamely explained, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. Ace's resolve crumbled at that one adorable motion. He softened his gaze and reached forward, taking a surprised Kuki's hand in his own and gently caressing it. He peered deep into her eyes and she shrank back subconsciously.

"Aw...mi bonita senorita, is there no one more pure of heart than yourself? I can only hope to one day prove myself worthy to stand beside you and bask in the warm glow of your golden halo," he exalted.

Flabbergasted, Kuki searched for a response when Anna Worthington with Wally in tow breezed by. A flush crept over her cheeks and her heart stopped. She could've sworn there was a flash of green her direction from the statuesque blond striding towards the school entry, a sour sneer tugging the corners of his mouth. He ripped the door open with a loud bang and Anna scurried in after him.

Kuki removed her hand from Ace's grasp and told him, "You don't have to prove yourself to stand next to me, you just have to apologize to Wally for treating him so bad."

Ace was glaring at the doorway Wally had entered moments before.

"Your heart, as usual, is clouding your head, amorcita," Ace commented, "Forget about him. You want to believe that he could not have meant you harm, but the second day of school is not yet over and already he is on his way to pay for whatever new crime he has committed. I worry at what he would have done alone with you, you are too trusting and..."

_...don't forget me._

Heat flared through Kuki and before she could stop herself, her palm cut across Ace's cheek. They stared at one another in stun, red blossoming along the handsome boy's jawline.

"You think you know what's best for me, but you don't. You're treating me like a dummy and...and I want you to stop," she told him firmly, "Because...because...I'm not a dummy. I can take care of myself." Without another word, she spun on heel and marched towards the school.

Ace watched her retreat with mouth slightly agape, dumbfounded. He wondered what had occurred that morning during her encounter with Wally. She wasn't acting like the Kuki he knew.

-1-2-3-4-5-

At the ring of the lunch bell, Patton took his time gathering his books and packing his bag, watching furtively as Rachel grabbed her own belongings and exited the room. She knew he was ignoring her and was doing a damn good job of concealing her anger but he couldn't help the pang of guilt when she quickly, meekly, glanced him on her way out the door. It was her own fault, he told himself. Running her mouth that morning about ridiculous things, he had every right to be mad at her.

"Rach...wait up. Hey, Captain, you coming?" Bartie called from the door. Standing beside him was an impatient Phil. Patton glanced up and shook his head.

"Go ahead guys. I'm going to the weight room," he muttered.

The boys exchanged looks. They knew something was up between their two good friends but weren't certain how to or even if they should broach the topic with one of them. Reaching a decision, they departed with friendly salutations.

The door closed on Bartie opening conversation about Virginia and his concerns as to whether he could consider her a girlfriend or if she was just a friend-with-benefits.

"...I feel like she's got this whole other life I don't know anything about...you know?"

Patton frowned at his English Lit book, a picture of the _Romeo and Juliet_ balcony scene decorated the cover. He shoved it into his pack with a vengeance then shouldered the pack. With the gait of a military man, as he was all too aware that day, he strode from the classroom into the near empty hallway.

Ignoring Rachel had proven hard, but it was startlingly easy to leave Ricky and Fanny alone. The feeling was almost satisfying every time he wordlessly walked by the gaping couple in the hallway between classes. He was almost convinced now that he was entirely in the right that morning. He didn't want the obnoxious redhead, he never had, and Rachel owed him an apology.

"...don't understand what you're so upset about!"

Patton came to a dead halt. He knew that pompous shriek.

"Of course you don't," came the thickly Irish response, almost a shout, "Because you never understand."

A cruel smile warmed across Patton's face. As if his day couldn't get any better, the perfect couple was fighting. He couldn't help thinking of the many ways he could tease Fanny with this, after all, it wasn't very lady-like to raise one's voice. He stole a peek around the corner and features fell.

Fanny's pale face, her cheeks and nose lightly freckle-dusted, was tear streaked. She gripped her books to her slender, trembling form and glinting emerald eyes were fixed across the empty corridor on that prick Ricky, who didn't appear so much concerned by his girlfriend's crying as agitated by it.

Patton didn't like the feeling that swelled in his chest as his hands curled into fists so tight his nails bit into flesh. He ducked out of sight again, leaning heavy against the lockers, and fantasizing about breaking Ricky's nose while eavesdropping on their argument.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Francine," Ricky sneered, with an ironic flip of his hair, "Are you really so upset over one comment I made this morning? I don't even know what I said that bothered you so much."

Fanny gasped pathetically, and whimpered, "Does it even matter what it is you said?"

"No, that's what I've been telling you! This is completely ridicu..."

"Because you should know, Richard. You should know exactly what it is you said to upset me. But you don't know and you don't understand!"

"Ugh...Fanny, my love, I cannot deal with you when you're like this."

An anguished sob was his only reply.

"Why don't you go clean yourself up? And, after, if you're feeling more reasonable, then come talk to me," Ricky bit out.

Patton could hear the slap of pretty boy's shoes against the tile fading down the hall. There was a creak of metal, and the heartbroken sound of Fanny's uncontrollable crying. A few moments passed of Patton listening to the devastated girl. He took a deep breath, uncertain of what exactly he was doing, and casually turned the corner.

Fanny was slumped against a wall of lockers, silent tears cascading down her face. Her eyes shot up when she heard the soft pad of his approaching footsteps. For a brief second, something hot flashed across her features, but it fizzled in her gloom. She focused her gaze on a shiny tile as Patton came to lean next to her against the lockers, his own eyes staring straight ahead.

"You sound like a drowning cat when you cry, Fulbrite," he teased softly. She sniffled and he couldn't see the tiny smile that flittered across her face only to be quickly banished.

"What do you want, Drilovsky?" she replied, but the usual jeer in her words was half-hearted.

Patton thought about it and cleared his throat. He attempted a false cheer, "Well...what I really want is to pass from class to class each day without being assaulted by traumatizing images."

Fanny pursed her lips, tightened her hold on the books in her arms.

"I thought the worst I could see was you and Strowd sucking face..."

Red hair fluttered with an angry shake of her head.

"Turns out I was wrong," Patton dropped his voice low and confessed, "You in tears is worse."

Fanny flickered a glance up to meet dark kohl staring down at her, then flustered, she turned her head away down the hall.

"What did he say?"

Startled, Fanny asked, "What?"

Patton shrugged. "Strowd. What did he say that bothered you?"

"Did you hear the whole fight?" Fanny questioned quietly.

"No. Just the climax. Was it good for you?"

Another angry toss of the head. "Do you always have to be such a stupid boy?"

"I don't know, Fulbrite, do you always have to be a stuck-up princess?" Patton shot back, then sighed. "Seriously though, Fanny, what did he say?"

Fanny chewed her bottom lip ponderously and Patton briefly wondered what it tasted like then hastily burned the thought from his mind. He didn't like when Rachel was right. She had an annoying Victory Dance she always performed when she was right.

"It was just something stupid...about something...stupid."

"Stupid enough to get in a fight over?"

Fanny flustered, rubbed her face furiously, and groaned inwardly.

"It was about football, alright!"

Patton blinked. That was unexpected.

"Football?" he echoed dumbly then questioned sarcastically, "So...what? You were arguing about who hates it more...?"

"No," Fanny growled. She dropped her voice low and agitatedly admitted, "I watch football."

Again, Patton blinked, because again, that was unexpected.

"You?"

"Yes."

"Watch football?"

"Yes!" Fanny pushed away from the locker and spun angrily to face him, "I know, I know, it's not very lady-like. The prissy little princess watches football. So go ahead, Drilovsky, take your shots. Let's hear 'em."

"You go to games?" Patton asked, still blank faced. Fanny darted a look down the hall.

"Sometimes," she scoffed, "When my da has the time...he gets free box tickets."

Patton grinned, "Please tell me you dress up...face paints, big foam finger..."

"No," she snapped, then with a relenting smirk, "I wear jerseys..."

Patton tried not to think about how hot Fanny in a football jersey was but trying not to actually involved thinking it in the first place.

"You ever been to my games?" It spilled out of his mouth without warning and he wasn't entirely sure why he had asked. It wasn't really important, wasn't like she would go just to see him, to root for him.

Fanny was quiet. He narrowed his eyes on her, an excited flutter in his heart.

"Well? Have you?"

She hugged her books tighter and said in an uppity pitch, "You're a better quarterback than Balooka was but you start dropping your arm too soon on passes by the end of third quarter, increases your incompletes. You know, you could take us to State this year...if you stopped being stupid."

Patton gaped. He felt as though her words confirmed something about her that he had known all along and still in utter stun, he half-jokingly blurted out, "Marry me."

"What?"

"What?" Patton flushed, glancing away, "Nothing. Uh...so you and pretty boy were fighting because you like football?"

Fanny frowned, shook her head.

"Then why...?"

"Because...because he doesn't understand," she muttered.

"Well you don't exactly make it easy."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Fanny demanded. Patton shrugged. It was a bad idea, he knew, to pour out every thought now bouncing through his mind. Each word he spoke made the chances of Rachel having to apologize, which was always a good show, decrease significantly.

"Nothing. I don't know. You just...you seem like you're trying to be a different person...or that you aren't really sure who you are..."

"And what do you know?" Fanny sneered, "You don't know anything about me?"

"Well, maybe I didn't know you liked football," Patton flared.

What was it about her that brought out the cruelty in him?

"But I know you aren't that soft-spoken, simpering, little _lady_ draping off prince charming's arm."

Fanny's face turned red from root to chin.

"What I do know is that you're loud-mouth, brash, argumentative, annoying, bratty..."

"How dare you...!"

"And I also know that I..."

"Fanny!"

_Damn_. Patton swallowed back his words, and the redhead spun around and smiled, relieved, at her mousy brunette friend ushing over.

"Fanny, I've been looking everywhere for you," the girl gushed, grabbing hold of Fanny's arm. She darted a wary look Patton's direction, something pained passing across her eyes, and went on to say, "Ricky told me you were angry with him? Is that true?"

"Patty what are...oh uh...Ricky, well...yes," Fanny murmured, dazed, "Yes, I am, angry with him."

"Oh no, really?" Patty exclaimed, tugging Fanny urgently away from the stunned silent quarterback, "You can't be angry with him! You know, he cares so much about you. You have to tell me what happened. We'll go to the washroom and talk all about it."

"Ah...mm...okay...I'd like that."

Patton glared hot-faced at the tiles, mulling over what he had been about to say. A vision of Rachel victory danced across the floor as her morning lecture echoed in his ears; _you're never going to have what it takes..._

Lost in his personal brooding, he missed the uncertain glint of green flashing a glance back to him.

-5-4-3-2-1-

Lunch for Abigail was a salad and protein shake, and she slowly munched on it while sitting patiently in the front office attempting to review her notes on fellow students from that morning's classes. The office staff, like everyone else in the school, were very familiar with Abby and, for the most part, left her alone. They knew she would talk to whomever she was there for whenever she was good and ready and not a second sooner.

The letters written in Abigail's neat penmanship blurred with her vision. She massaged her forehead momentarily, attempting to soothe away reminiscence of her confrontation with Hoagie in the Journalism room that morning. From the corner of an eye she had studied him during homeroom and he'd appeared as irritated as she'd felt. It was comforting. At least she knew she wasn't the only one the argument had riled up.

Abby growled in the back of her throat. _That guy_ was infuriating. It was baffling how he could take something so simple as light-hearted prodding and twist it into a hostile attack on his person. And then, to insinuate that she kept friends by blackmailing them. It was enough to make her blood boil. As if she bothered befriending backstabbing, untrustworthy people that had information one could blackmail them with.

She snorted softly and pushed away her notebook, done trying to make sense of the swirling mess of ink and paper in front of her.

As if she bothered having friends.

She rose from the chair, shouldering her tote, and wandered to the front desk, leaning against the counter, and examining disinterestedly the papers scattered across it. Someone was apparently filing away permission slips and various other papers signed by parents. Abby could easily identify which ones were forged by the student; some attempted to copy their parent's signature and had all the markers of a bad forger while others didn't bother hiding that the writing was their own.

The front office door opened and Abigail let a sly smirk slip into place as the reason for her visit walked in. Her smile momentarily softened when she saw the boy trudging behind.

"Take a seat, Wallabee, I'll inform the dean that you've arrived."

Anna breezed by without so much a glance Abigail's direction and disappeared into the back of the office. Wally plopped onto one of the waiting chairs, leaned forward, elbows propped on knees. Abby strummed her fingers across the countertop a few times, to disturb the silence, then cradled her cheek in a palm and focused her attention on the slumped over blond boy.

The clock overhead ticked noisily. Neither said a word. Abigail smiled tenderly. Wally glared at the ground. Time moved slowly.

Torturous minutes flew by and finally the blond boy groaned, "Stop that."

"Stop what?" Abigail questioned innocently.

Wally shifted in the chair, lifting himself up and falling heavily back into the seat. He tilted his head so that one eye peered out through blond bangs at the pretty young woman standing across from him.

"Staring at me like that. It's creepy."

"Abby can't help herself, outback," Abigail teased, a broad grin filling her features, "She's just so happy to see your bright, cheerful face, again. So, how was military school? I heard you punched the drill sergeant."

"Oh...yeah...military school...that place you got me sent to," Wally muttered, folding his arms over his chest. Abigail frowned at that, taking a few steps towards him.

"Hey now, that's not fair. It ain't my fault the way things played out. I _warned_ you, baby," she started, but ended up sighing, falling wearily into the seat next to Wally, "Look, outback, I had to write that article. I didn't know they set you up to take the fall, I swear. And when I heard what they'd done, pinning it all on you, I fought it. You _know_ I fought it."

"Oh okay...so...you didn't know I'd get the blame. Just like you didn't the last time...or the time before that...or the time before that or..."

"Come on now, you deserved it that time you were letting air outta kids' bike tires and charging them to use your pump!" Abigail scrunched her nose. "Jeez, outback, how many times have I busted you?"

Wally smirked at that. "I lost count."

"I really am sorry, Wally," Abigail told him earnestly, "I tried my damnedest to keep your name out of it."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. It's alright, Abs," Wally admitted, "Military school wasn't so bad. It was a nice break from the norm."

Abigail smiled fondly at the Australian. On the outset, it didn't readily make sense why someone like Abigail Lincoln should care about an obvious lost cause like Wallabee Beatles, and honestly, she couldn't explain it herself. He was a habitual rule breaker, showed an utter disregard for authority, and a disinterest in the general well-being of others. He was rude, violent, bad-tempered, ill-mannered, and had a mouth that could make a sailor blush.

But from the first time she'd laid eyes on him; back then nearly a head shorter than her though now he was several inches taller, Abigail had felt inexplicably protective of Wally and while she couldn't recall ever having known him before, he had felt strangely familiar.

Admittedly, she had avoided him at first, the feeling bothered her. But their personal drives, her as a seeker of truth and justice, and he as a juvenile delinquent with a knack for getting caught; constantly brought both crashing back to one another. And somehow, they had formed a Sam and Ralph bond over the years.

It was weird to admit, but the closest she had to a friend in the school was a criminal in the making.

Abigail playfully slapped at Wally's arm and questioned, "So...what're you doing already in the dean's office, outback? You know we're only on day two of the school year right? Don't tell me your trying to break your old record for most consecutive trips to the dean's office in a single semester."

"I didn't do nothing," Wally muttered peevishly. Abigail furrowed her brow in concern and he pulled a face, "Wigglesteins."

"Damn," she muttered, pursing her lips, "Those siblings give me the willies."

"I hear ya', sister."

"I told you to stay away from them. I mean, after you tackl..."

"That wasn't my fault! They provoked me."

Abigail smirked. She folded her arms over her stomach and eyed him.

"And tell Abby again, 'cause she ain't so clear on the details, how exactly them standing at the front of the classroom presenting their project on fungal mold samples was provoking?"

"I...well...they..." Wally stammered. He sank back grumpily into his chair and responded, "It just was."

"Mmhmm..." Abby hummed. Wally sighed. He smirked at her.

"You got to admit, it was kind of funny."

She grinned toothily at him, "Watching them fly through the air? Boy, you _know_ I was laughing so hard my sides split!"

"So, Abs, what's an ace student like you doing up here? Get caught breaking into the principle's office? You were bugging the teachers' lounge again, were ya'?"

"Nope...just...woolgathering," Abigail vaguely replied.

"Woolgathering? What the crud is that?"

Abigail shook her head bemusedly.

"Fine, don't tell me."

They fell into a comfortable silence.

"Hey, you meet the new student, yet?" Wally asked softly. Abigail felt a flush to her face as she recalled her morning with Whistler and Hoagie.

"Which one?"

"Crud, we got more than one? Ah...the...uh...pom...er...Brit. Nigel."

Abigail frowned. A strange feeling washed over her. She knew the feeling, though not as pronounced; it was the same one she had around Wally, and a couple other students in the school. The name carried a weighty meaning for her, but she didn't understand it, couldn't put a finger on it. She brushed it aside.

"Nigel Uno, transfer from England. Nope, haven't met him yet. Why?"

Wally gave a short shake of his head. "No reason." And offered nothing more.

There was no chance to press the matter further, however, because, for some reason, Nigel's name seemed to trigger a reminder of something more important needing to be taken care of. Abigail jumped to her feet, receiving a questioning look from her companion.

"Outback, you still in contact with your fake I.D. guy?"

"Maybe. Why?"

Abigail grinned. She reached into her pack, producing a notebook and pen and started writing as she spoke, "I need you to get me a couple of ID's."

"A couple? You really only need one to get into bars..."

"This ain't for going drinking."

She ripped the page off that she'd written on and held it out to an unimpressed Wally.

"It'll cost 'ya."

"How much?"

They stared at one another a long time, as though in silent debate. Finally, Wally took the paper and skimmed it. He quirked a brow at her.

"What do you need a university student ID for? And what's a...resident badge?"

Abigail tapped a foot, "How much, outback?"

"I'll talk to my guy but...uh...let's say for the three..." He folded the paper, shoved it in his back pocket, "One fifty?"

"One fifty," Abigail repeated, and gave a low whistle of surprise. Wally shrugged.

"Yeah, he'll want more, but I can talk him down." Wally balled a fist to indicate how little talking would actually be involved in the bargaining process.

"You know, you're my favorite marsupial," Abigail cheekily cooed.

"Don't call me that," Wally grumbled.

Abigail walked back towards the counter, peeking down the hall where Anna had disappeared. The office aid certainly was taking her time.

"I figure you already heard 'bout my party?"

Abby glanced to Wally, gave a slight nod of her head. The lumbering Lunk had mentioned it that morning during passing period from homeroom to first, cornering Abigail in the hallway with his usual heavy-handed flirtations.

"So you'll be there, I take it. You mind giving me warning before you bust me on anything?"

"Don't I always?" Abigail coolly responded, then clucked her tongue, "Ya oughta be more worried about that backstabber Ernie. If you really want someone to blame for getting shipped to military school..."

"Yeah, yeah. He's threatened by my power in the high school underworld, I know. We already had this convo, Abs. No worries, though, I ain't partnering with him on any scams, it's just a party."

"Right," Abby murmured, then shrugged, "I might show."

Wally nodded. Anna walked back in with several folders in hand. She set them on her desk, eying Abigail who leaned heavily across the counter top and smiled winningly at her.

"Whatever it is, Abigail Lincoln, I don't have time," Anna seethed, "So please, _leave_."

"Wouldn't talk to her like that," Wally muttered warning from the chair. He'd slumped forward again, glaring at the carpet. Abigail grinned broadly and produced her notepad, tapping it suggestively on the counter top.

"Is that so, Anna? 'Cause I thought you always had time when it came to Jimmy."

Anna gripped the folders tight enough to turn her knuckles white, her mouth pressing into a thin line.

"Told 'ya," Wally quipped.

Briskly, Anna joined Abigail at the counter, dropping her voice to a barely audible whisper and darting clandestine looks Wally's direction.

"What do you know about James?"

Abby shrugged nonchalant, thumbing through the pages of her pad, "Oh...nothing big...just that he's been a very, _very_, bad president lately."

"What has he done?" Anna hissed, making a grab for the pad, but Abigail easily dodged the move. She smiled slyly, wagging a finger and tsk-tsking. "Abigail Lincoln, I _swear to God_...I need to know what you have on James, as his publicist and campaign manager!"

"And I understand that. But we all need things, Anna," Abby replied. Anna narrowed her piercing blue eyes.

"No. No, no. Absolutely not! I will not...not again. I already told you that the last time was _the last time_." Again, Anna's eyes flashed to Wally, who wasn't paying the girls any attention now.

"Okay," Abby intoned, starting to slip the pad into her tote, "I guess you'll just have to read about Jimmy's latest exploits on the front page of the Willem Rag's first issue of the year. And I was worried I wouldn't be able to compete with Dickson's legacy but this juicy article might help seal my rep..."

Anna's eyes widened. She gasped, "You couldn't!"

"Abby could and you better believe she would, baby."

"Fine," Anna relented, hanging her head in despair, "What do you want?"

Abigail smiled sweetly. In her notepad she jotted down a name, ripped out the paper, ad slipped it towards the fuming office aid. Anna swiped it up, reading it with a frown.

"Funf...uh...?" she attempted.

" Fünfundzwanzig. Whistler Fünfundzwanzig. He's a new sophomore, transferred from Paris, Maine," Abigail took over, voice dropped to a whisper, "I need to see his permanent record."

"Is this it?" Anna looked relieved, which made sense, 'last time' had involved seventeen permanent records and the principle's network password.

"Yeah. When I get the file, I'll give you the 411 on Jimmy," Abby replied, she turned to start away and, paused with her gaze on Wally. On a whim, she whispered to Anna, "Actually...could you also get me the file on Mackeral Herring."

Anna gave a withering sigh. In her swooping handwriting, she wrote down the additional name but made no comment.

"Good. I'll be seeing 'ya, Miss Worthington," Abby delightly proclaimed, hefting her bag up and waltzing to the exit. She snapped a finger at Wally in passing and said, "Later, outback."

Wally nodded acknowledgment and Anna scowled at Abby's retreating back as the door closed behind her.

It isn't paranoia, Abby reasoned with herself, to want to run a background check on every cute guy that suddenly starts hanging around her. It's called being cautious. She started for the journalism room, her mind suddenly returning to the subject of Nigel. Wally didn't speak about his many acquaintances often if ever, mainly because they were all of the shady variety and weren't the type one bragged about associating with, so it was interesting that he felt the need to bring up this new boy.

She wondered at Wally's curiosity and suddenly wished she'd thought to ask for Nigel's permanent record as well. Yet, for some reason she couldn't explain in much the same way she couldn't explain her fondness for Wally, she felt she didn't need to see his file. Despite never having met the guy, never having so much as seen him, the usually precarious reporter, felt she could trust this Nigel Uno. Which made her question: who the heck was he?

* * *

A/N: Currently, my brain is elsewhere, so this is going to be a fun ending note. Hm...I call this my "Anna Worthington is EVERYWHERE" chapter. Because she is...everywhere. I know, a lot of you were hoping for 3x4 stuff, and I hope that Kuki thinking about Wally is enough to whet your guys' appetite. The 86x60 stuff went on longer than I had intended, and while I know it doesn't seem like it now, what's going on with them is minorly important to the overall scheme of things. I figured it'd be nice to give them a bit of fluff, too, and I always planned on having Patton comforting Fanny at some point and this was the perfect place cuz it really won't work in later chapters. I keep picturing Rachel doing a victory dance now, also, and it's absolutely adorable, but that's just me.

Joe Balooka was an interesting character to work with because I wasn't yet sure how I would characterize him. I have him speaking slang from the 20s-40s era, because the first episode of KND he was in was done sort of noir-esque. I played with the idea of turning him into a tool, but I figured, he's friends with Wally and he's friends with someone else (wait and see...) that wouldn't make that work. So, he's really more of a nice guy that walks on the wrong side of the law, which I think sort of suits his character from the series more. I don't know, what do you think?

Ace and Kuki. Wasn't how I originally planned for that scene to play out. I needed them to get in a big fight, but Ace wasn't cooperating. So instead, he became an unintentional jerk and Kuki reacted, at least, that's how it feels to me. Did it feel alright to you guys?

Ah...Abby and Wally. Yes, they associate, in an almost friend-like manner. :) I have been waiting to get to this scene for the longest time and now that I've written it, I feel a little let down. It just doesn't feel perfect enough to me, even though I covered everything I had wanted to get into...but my opinion isn't as important as yours, so let me know what you think!

FYI: Abby/Nigel scene is coming very soon. Currently, I'm playing with how far back in the timeline former Sector V getting together will be. It's kind of a huge moment...so...yeah...

Anyhoo, enough chinwagging from me. It's your turn! Go!


	14. Chapter 13

A/N: So...I had wanted to finish this days ago but other priorities just kept getting in the way. Sigh, this is unfortunately about how fast I'm going to be updating now.

Whelp, read it up.

* * *

Chapter 13:

It didn't take Numbuh 2-dollar bill long to pull all available information on Operation GANDER. There wasn't very much. She held the paperwork in her hands, while tentatively hovering outside the Soopreme Commander's door and smiling thinly at any operatives that passed by and gave her strange looks.

Numbuh 676 was out on damage control, which Numbuh 2-dollar bill found to be quite alright. She wasn't in a rush to tell her leader she had no substantial information for him. Part of her wished she was still needed in main control, but most operations were up and running again and bringing up the remaining sections could easily be handled by Numbuh's 87-Kajillion and 0100001.

Nervously, Numbuh 2-dollar bill glanced over the information again. The archive reports were neatly filled out in high-quality crayon. She couldn't help feeling a connection to that long-since decommissioned operative who wrote the words on those papers. The colors they chose were the ones she would have used; crimson red, turquoise blue, apple green, and lemony yellow. She traced her finger over the letters, the former kid would spiral the dot over his or her lower case i's, and curl up the leg of the t's, l's, and k's.

In an ancient time she couldn't imagine, three whole years ago, someone not unlike her had sat at a desk, maybe her desk, somewhere in the many sectors on Moonbase. Perhaps that kid had sipped grape soda, or chewed Rainbow Monkey jellies as he or she worked, much like Numbuh 2-dollar bill did now.

In her minds eye, she could see another little girl in pig tails with pompoms on their ties, biting the end of her crayon, doodling on the edge of the pages Numbuh 2-dollar bill would years later hold in her hands. Sure enough, the edge of one page had a stunning rendition of the Rainbow Monkey Lisa scribbled across it.

The clack of footsteps approaching roused Numbuh 2-dollar bill from her musings and she startled to attention. Numbuh 676, flanked by two guards, came to a halt in front of her. He maneuvered around her, opening his door and, waving away the guards, motioned her inside. He closed the door securely behind them and strode to his seat. Once settled, he looked to Numbuh 2-dollar bill, still huddled by the door.

"Did you have something for me?" he asked.

"Uh...ah...yea...I have the information you asked for," was the meek reply.

Numbuh 2-dollar bill edged forward, slid the papers onto Numbuh 676's desk and scrambled a few steps back. He smirked wearily at her, amused, and shifted the papers in his hands, skimming them interestedly.

"This is it?" he calmly questioned. Numbuh 2-dollar bill nodded more enthusiastically than she intended. Numbuh 676 frowned deeply. "This can't be it. Where are the mission specs?"

"There are none. It seems to have been a routine observe and report."

"But what about location details? 2X4 tech disclosures? Associated Adult Villain profiles?"

"None, none...and none."

"This doesn't make any sense!" Numbuh 676 exploded, on his feet and pacing the room. Numbuh 2-dollar bill ducked her head sheepishly. "Where are all the proper forms? How were they running things back then? Archive always files everything in triplicate, sometimes even four-plicate!"

"I know, sir, I know."

"What was Operation GANDER? And why was it not archived completely?"

"Well...it was classified N.H.I., maybe they decided they didn't need all that information, sir?" Numbuh 2-dollar bill ventured but it wasn't the answer Numbuh 676 wanted and he kicked his desk to emphasize that point.

"How the mac n' cheese could one mission be so unimportant...?" Numbuh 676 faltered and slumped into his chair again. His brow furrowed and he turned to stare out the window into the vast of space and to the glittering blue ball millions of miles away.

"Maybe...maybe it was a dummy mission," Numbuh 2-dollar bill suggested, "You know...it was Sector V's last mission together and some of them were looking at being decommissioned soon. Maybe Soopreme Command didn't want to risk sending them on a real mission that might be ultra important, so they gave them a fake one."

Silence. Numbuh 2-dollar bill shuffled uncomfortably. She glanced to the door and considered leaving, but she hadn't yet been dismissed.

"...unless it wasn't," Numbuh 676 finally mumbled.

"Wasn't...what, sir?"

Suddenly, Numbuh 676 spun round to face a stunned Numbuh 2-dollar bill once more.

"Think about it, Numbuh 2-dollar bill. Why would anyone bother hacking in to K.A.N.-O.-S.O.U.P. for an unimportant mission? And why would Soopreme Command bother leaving details out of a Not Hugely Important mission or even Archive a dummy one?"

Numbuh 2-dollar bill shrugged, "They wouldn't?"

"Exactly," Numbuh 676 exclaimed, snatching up the paperwork and waving it in the air like a madman, "What if _this_ isn't what we're really supposed to be looking at? What if GANDER is just...just a wild goose chase?"

"You've lost me, sir?"

"That's my point!" Numbuh 676 cried, falling heavily back into his seat, "Someone went to a lot of trouble to hide what the old Sector V was really doing during this time." He tossed the papers across the desk disdainfully, "This is a dummy mission, Numbuh 2-dollar bill, and _we're_ the dummies."

Numbuh 2-dollar bill gaped at the reports. The little girl not unlike herself that she had imagined filling it out was twisting and transforming into something sinister and malicious. Faked operation Archives, missions so classified future generations of the KND weren't even privy to their details? In the words of her Soopreme Leader, what the _mac n' cheese _were they up to back then?

"Numbuh 2-dollar bill," the Soopreme Leader said, and she straightened to attention, "Wayles," she loosened her stance, "I have to ask you to do something. To undertake a task so ginormous, no sane kid would ever in an eleventy-billion years agree to such a task, but it needs to be done and I need you to do it."

Numbuh 2-dollar bill chewed her inner cheek and gave a tip of her head. Bravely, she asked, "What is it that you need of me, sir?"

"This task will involve going over every Archived mission at the time of Operation GANDER, every log, every record of every 2x4 tech deployed, every recorded message transferred through KND communications, every personnel file of every operative in service. You might even have to go back before GANDER..."

Numbuh 2-dollar bill drew her breath in slowly, held it a few heartbeats before releasing.

"This task will make you call into question everything you know and everything you believe about the Kids Next Door, a burden you will have to shoulder alone. Can I trust you to do this, Numbuh 2-dollar bill...Wayles? Can I trust you?"

"...yes, sir."

"Understand, that for the integrity of what we stand for, good or bad, nothing you learn can ever be revealed. That it must stay between you and I...for the rights of kids everywhere. We _cannot_ cast doubt on our organization or we will undermine the good that it does."

"I understand, sir."

Numbuh 676 sighed, nodding his head and smiling sadly at the girl before him. She was strong, loyal, and smart, he knew she could handle it.

"Good."

He took a deep breath.

"Numbuh 2-dollar bill, I'm assigning you to investigate the Kids Next Door."

-1-2-3-4-5-

After escorting Nigel to the nurse that morning, Lizzie sat anxiously through classes, counting down the ticking minutes until lunch break. She nearly burst from the room at dismissal bell, rushing down the hall, to the surprise of her teacher and fellow classmates. The nurse, a cheery plump woman with hair twisted tightly back into a bun, greeted her with a sympathetic smile.

"I'm sorry, Miss Devine, your friend is still resting."

Lizzie's eager features fell and she said quietly, "Thank you, Nurse Claiborn. Would you mind at all if I kept him company?"

The nurse smiled softly and gave a kind nod, though, as Lizzie slipped into the back of the nurse's office towards the beds, she could swear she heard the older woman muttering bitterly under her breath about how she missed her job at Gallagher because teenage problems like acne and mono weren't good for baking.

Nigel was sprawled out on one of the beds, a curtain hung halfway shut around him. Lizzie found a chair nearby and pulled it to his bedside. Gracefully, she took a seat and, folding her feet neatly at the ankle and smoothing her skirt down, she tugged a hankie from out her purse and proceeded to grieve her beloved's condition.

"Oh, Nigie, to think after all this time we find each other again, only for you to fall terribly ill," she dramatically espoused, clasping at his hand and dabbing the hankie beneath her shimmering eyes. She heaved a withering sigh, "Oh, Nigie!"

A few seconds of dry sobbing and blubbering passed, then Lizzie peeked curiously at the unconscious boy. She scowled, flopping her hankie aside and leaning heavily a cheek on her palm.

"Sheesh, Nigel, the least you could do is moan pathetically or something," she complained. Silence.

_Lizzie..._

Lizzie leaned back in her chair and frowned at the boy. Thoughts tumbled about her head. She was glad to see Nigel again, but admittedly, part of her wished he'd never come back. Sitting in that Nurse's office, at his bedside once again, anxious and uncertain, it stirred in her old emotions she hadn't felt in well over three years.

_Lizzie...I'll need you..._

Three years.

_Lizzie...you'll be the only one..._

Reflecting back, it seemed like such a long time ago, but she could still remember everything as vividly as if it had happened that morning.

_Lizzie...the last time..._

Lizzie closed her eyes, let a sad smile flit along her lips. How could she forget, after all, it had been the last time her heart had cinched with such worry.

_Lizzie...I promise..._

The sky had been such a clear piercing blue that morning, like the color of Nigel's eyes, the kind of calm you could dive into. A calm shattered by that argument, the last argument her and Nigel ever had.

"You said you were retiring," she had screamed.

"I know, and I will. On my birthday. This mission is important, though. Numbuh Five is even resigning her post as Soopreme Commander _early_ for it...but it'll be the last time, Lizzie, the last time. I promise," he had returned.

"You bet your Yipper cards its the last time, mister." Looking back, she wished she hadn't snapped so hard.

"Lizzie..." He had sounded so desperate, so pleading.

"Because...because...we're through!"

"Don't say that, Lizzie! You have to understand..."

"What's there to understand? There's always, _always_ something more important than me: a mission, your sector, the _stupid Kids Next Door_. Understand this, Nigel: _We are over!_"

"But I'll need you, Lizzie!"

It had caused her to pause then as it still did now, and Lizzie absently flicked a stray tear away at the memory of those words she had once longed to hear fall from her beloved's lips.

"I'll need you after I'm decommissioned! After I forget the Kids Next Door...forget my team."

Back then, at those statements, Lizzie's heart had filled with hope. Yes, they would be gone and she would be all that remained in his mind and heart.

"You'll be the only one, Lizzie, the only one who'll know and remember everything that is important to me. I'll need you to take care of them for me."

Lizzie felt her world shattering again as it had then when she stammered that question she never truly wanted answered.

"Take care of...take care of who...?"

"My team," Nigel had croaked, his eyes glistened with tears, and for Lizzie it was confirmation of what she had always, deep down inside, feared. That, memories or no, she would always be stuck at second place in his heart.

Back in the present, Lizzie shook away the new tears threatening to spill. She had walked away from Nigel that day and she couldn't help feeling partially to blame for everything that happened next. He had went on the mission, and as far as she knew everything was a success, but he was different when he returned, changed somehow.

At the time, she had believed he was simply crushed as she was by their break-up. Now, his words echoed back to her.

_...this mission is important...Numbuh Five is even resigning her post early for it..._

That meant his entire team, after nearly half-a-year of separation, was back together for that last 'important' mission. Maybe that was why he'd been so desperate to go. One last mission with _her_.

_…you have to understand..._

Lizzie clenched both hands in tight fists. She had always known there was something going on between her Nigel and that Numbuh Five, though she loathed to call it chemistry. She hadn't trusted ditzy Three either. The two floozies were always hanging around him, demanding his attention, stealing his precious time meant for his girlfriend.

Of course, that didn't explain his birthday.

Months had passed after his return from that 'oh-so-important' mission, and for the most part, Lizzie had grown accustomed to ignoring his existence. She had dated Jimmy McGarfield for a few weeks in the beginning, hoping to rile jealousy in the unflappable Brit, but he never so much as bated a lash.

In the dusk of morning on his thirteenth birthday, he had appeared on her doorstep.

Sitting in a chair in the nurse's office, Lizzie sighed, folding her arms over her stomach and staring blankly into the empty space. Her eyes were dry once more. She could still recall the surprise and elation that had filled her when she found him standing uncertainly in the dim glow of the porch light. He told her he needed to talk, and they had taken a seat on the sidewalk curb.

Back then, part of her had felt a tiny glimmer of hope. Perhaps he wanted to rekindle their relationship; he was sorry, had learned he couldn't live without her in those long, harrowing months and was ready to shower her with the love and devotion she knew she deserved. But it was only a momentary glimmer, because, by then, she knew better.

"When did it begin?" he had opened glumly and she had finally noticed then the somberness about him, "When did I fall victim to the very thing I've spent my childhood fighting?"

"Oh, Nigel," she had sighed, because she wasn't sure what else to say.

"I'm going to be decommissioned today."

"I know." Lizzie had attempted an encouraging smile but it didn't matter, Nigel hadn't been looking at her.

"I have become another casualty of war. You know, I could overcome nearly every other obstacle to kids' rights; school, curfew, neckties, adults, evil ice cream men..._everything_. Except this: aging. And my punishment for my failure? Everything that matters to me will be taken away and I won't even remember that it's gone."

"You could run," Lizzie had suggested, though at the time, she wasn't sure why.

She had always secretly looked forward to his decommissioning, joyfully counting down the days when he would be all hers. Even as they had sat in the dark, no longer a couple, she held onto the hope that maybe in decommissioning he'd forget the reasons why they had broken up and make an effort to regain her affections.

Nigel had looked mortified at her suggestion and he had told her flatly, "I could never run. My final duty to the Kids Next Door, the last battle I have to win for them, is this. I must be decommissioned to secure the safety of the future of kids everywhere."

"Right. Silly me," Lizzie had muttered. It had been a chilly night and she had felt a shiver creeping up her spine. Nigel had slipped his jacket over her shoulders, he'd always been the picture of chivalry.

"You know, I'm not afraid of it. Being decommissioned and having all my memories of the Kids Next Door erased. I thought I would be, but I'm not. Sad about it, yes. But afraid of it, no. However to say I'm not at all afraid right now would be a lie. Because I am afraid...afraid of what comes after. What happens when my memories are gone and I have nothing left? It'll almost be like starting over. So much of my life was the Kids Next Door and without it...without it...I just don't know what there will be."

"There's me," Lizzie had quietly offered and Nigel had smirked sardonically at the ground.

"Lizzie, I have to tell you something."

Again, that hope.

"Yes, Nigel?"

He had sighed deeply, fixed his stare on his shoes, scuffed black combat boots.

"I'm moving back to England."

The neighbors never took down their Christmas lights. Three years later and they still were hanging. That night Lizzie had focused all her attention on those unlit multicolored bulbs, because, she had been afraid if she didn't hold on to something solid the world would slide right out from under her.

"...moving...back..."

"Yes. To England."

"Oh."

After that, they had fallen quiet. Staring bleakly into distant nothingness. They attempted conversing about a few random irrelevant things, then he had left. No more mention of the Kids Next Door, or his team, or missions. Nothing. She never saw him again after that.

Until lunch on the first day of junior year in high school.

Lizzie glared at Nigel now.

For a few rending moments, it had seemed like that old hope were more than just wishful thinking. When they spoke, when Nigel looked at Lizzie, it felt as though there were a spark again. Then, when they'd confessed their contributed flaws to their failed relationship, Lizzie had swelled with jubilee. He still cared for her, she knew it, and without his pesky memories of the Kids Next Door and his stupid team to stand in the way, she was sure she could easily take her rightful spot as number one in his heart.

But he'd sat with Kuki at lunch, _Numbuh Three._ She had seen him across the cafeteria talking with Wally, _Numbuh Four_. He mentioned after saving Tommy that he knew Hoagie, _Numbuh Two. _And he wanted to join the Journalism Club, where Abigail was editor, _Numbuh Five_.

It wasn't fair, Lizzie determined. Their days of fighting adult tyranny together were over, they shouldn't mean anything to him anymore. After all, they didn't mean anything to one another.

_We're through!_

Sometimes Lizzie could almost forget what Nigel's face had looked like when she'd spoken those words. Sitting in the nurse's office, it haunted her as she darted glances the unconscious boy's direction. She had always thought it was heartbreak that had crumpled his features, but she wondered now if there was something more she was missing. If maybe it wasn't the fear of losing her that had brought desperation to his pleas but the thought of losing the last connection he would have to his memories, his past, his precious Kids Next Door.

Lizzie scowled horribly. She couldn't understand it then and the years had made her no more wiser on the subject. How could he have been so loyal to a club that revered him one moment only to drop him so unceremoniously the next?

Well, she'd be damned if she let them get their claws in him again. She tightened her arms around her body.

_...take care of them..._

It was easy for Lizzie to put those other four out of mind once Nigel was gone. And as far as she was concerned, they all took care of themselves, eventually getting exactly what they each deserved.

Hoagie's wisecracks when they were younger had never gone unnoticed by the unwanted girlfriend. Now he was the nerd king. Most of the time people wait to laugh behind a person's back but everyone just laughed in his face. Lizzie savored every joke targeted at the former class clown, and, boy, did that last laugh feel good.

Wally had been a vulgar idiot in their youths, Lizzie still couldn't fathom why Nigel had kept him around, but now the upstart was facing appropriate consequences for his indiscretions. Everyone knew where he would end up and when people weren't waiting for him to be hauled off campus in handcuffs, they ran away and whispered nastily about him in shadows. No one wanted to be his friend, which only seemed right to Lizzie, he never wanted to be hers.

And then there was Abigail. A wry smile never failed to touch Lizzie's lips when she thought of infamous 'honest' Abby Lincoln. Even when they were children, the nosy witch had a knack for burrowing her way to the truth. The irony was in the many lies she'd tell to get there. Lizzie had been ratted out on the tiniest details numerous times to Nigel by his favored 'right hand'. One would almost think Abby had an ax to grind with her leader's best girl.

Lizzie snorted humorously.

The air around Abby now was so frigid no one dared get close for fear of catching cold. And while people made fun of Hoagie, and feared Wally, they truly hated Abigail. It filled Lizzie with an earnest satisfaction. Served her right, Lizzie thought bitterly, spending so much time hoisting herself up and looking down on people that she failed to notice when they stopped looking up at her.

That left Kuki.

Lizzie shrugged.

Kuki had always been sweet enough to induce cavities. It was fine by Lizzie that the ditz was now Willem High's sweetheart.

She sniffed loudly.

Of course, Nigel had also been taken in by Kuki's saccharine charms both in youth and apparently now, a fact that didn't escape Lizzie's eagle eyes, nor did the inscription on the pills Kuki took every day at lunch and excused away as vitamin supplements. Depression was a befitting fate for the world's most stupidly cheerful girl.

None of them had ever been good enough to deserve Nigel's adoration, of that Lizzie was certain. They were trying to seduce him again, but she wouldn't let him fall for it, not this time. She had the upper hand now. She would keep the dreaded wolves at bay. This time, Nigel would be all hers, and if they were lucky, she would give them second place.

_...I'll need you..._

"More than you ever knew, Nigie."

Lizzie picked herself up from the chair, gathering her things and, wiping away imaginary tears, marched from the office. As the door slammed shut, she found herself nearly bowled over by a just as purposefully strident blond young man.

"Excuse me, dear lady, I'm so very sorry," the boy hastily cried, catching her by the shoulders. She brought herself up to reel on him but paused.

"Oh, Ricky, it's you," she murmured distractedly, waving away his apologies, "You're fine. I should watch where I'm going."

"If watching your path is to blame, then I too must take fault in this collision," Ricky replied. He flickered a look at the door Lizzie had exited and asked, "Is everything well?"

"What?" Lizzie furrowed her brow, then giggled in realization, "Oh, no. I wasn't a patient. I was just visiting." She took in the blond's appearance, hair unkempt and cheeks splotched red. "What about you? Is everything okay?"

"Yes." Ricky shook his head in frustration. "No." He rolled his eyes. "I love Fanny, I do, but she can be so...so...difficult at times."

"I'm not surprised," Lizzie scoffed and Ricky perked a brow.

"Do tell."

Lizzie flushed then, shrugging awkwardly and saying through nervous chuckles, "I really shouldn't say anything..."

"No. Please. We're both friends here," Ricky pressed.

"...okay..." Lizzie cleared her throat and rambled off, "While I'll admit, Fanny has made some _huge_ improvements over the years, I still think she has a long way to go, don't you? I mean, she doesn't yell anymore or boss people around like she used to but she has expensive clothes and doesn't know how to put together a nice outfit, she never wears high heels – _they_ probably wouldn't flatter her anyways, she doesn't wear enough make-up, is still very rude, and she's _way_ too skinny. Not to mention, she bites her nails."

Lizzie finished and took a deep breath, smiling innocently. Ricky furrowed his brow.

After a moment he said, "She does bite her nails...I never really thought about it before. Disgusting habit. And...she really is a bit thin, isn't she?"

"It's like she never eats!" Lizzie cried, "In my opinion, a woman needs to have a bit of meat on her bones."

"A lady should be voluptuous, yes," Ricky agreed, "Is there anything else?"

Lizzie's eyes lit, "Oh, sweetheart, there's plenty else." She faltered then kindly questioned, "But what are you so upset with Fanny about?"

"Have you eaten lunch yet?" Ricky asked, "Let's talk over meatloaf surprise, shall we?"

He placed a hand on the small of her back and lead her down the hall towards the cafeteria.

-5-4-3-2-1-

Cold. Like a torrential whip across his face.

And white. Everything was so white. It spread as far as the eyes could see. Just...pure white.

_Where am I_, Nigel wondered.

"It's up ahead, Numbuh One..."

_That voice...I know that voice...but who? I don't remember. Oh for crying out loud, why can't I remember?_

Searing pain, like a knife carving into his brain.

_Stop, stop, stop, stop! Stop trying to remember._

"Come on team, let's move!"

_My voice, that's me now. But...where am I? Team...what team?_

He was moving forward. Jogging. The bleak scenery jolted by, ice crunching under foot. It was all snow. There was just so much snow. Others, there were others with him. They moved with him in formation. He was the center. Their center.

"There, Numbuh One, it's there. I can see it! Hurry up, guys, let's get this over with."

_That voice, it's...Australian? Wally? No, that doesn't make sense. It's too young. We never knew one another, not when we were children. It can't be him, can it?_

"Cool your jets, Numbuh Four, this has been too easy. There's got to be a trap up ahead."

_That voice again...who...who is she?_

There was a structure in the distance. It blurred with the sleet cutting across his vision. Palisade. Parapets.

_A fortress...impossible._

Chaos. Hard gray metal bursting from the white. Screams, confusion. Figures, too fuzzy to identify. A rotund boy, a green sweater, blond hair, a red cap. Expert maneuvers, they dodged and parried. A sound so horrific like the cry of a thousand dying banshee ricocheting in his ears. Too fast, everything was happening too fast.

A piercing shriek, it punctured his heart.

"Numbuh Three, no! Let her go, you tin cockroach!"

"Numbuh Four, watch yourself!"

CRUSH! CRUNCH! GRRERERERERE! CRACK!

"Look out! Numbuh Five!"

_Hoagie? No. Couldn't be. It didn't sound anything like him._

"Ugh! No, let go! Numbuh One, help! Help! _Help!_"

Warm. A heat so blistering it felt as though it could scorch his bare skin. Something hard was pressed under his back, he was lying across a table. Cords were strapped over his body, cinched so tight they bit into his flesh.

Panic overwhelmed him.

_My team, where is my team?_

_Wait. Team. _What _team?_

There was a dim, flickering yellow light overhead, it washed the room in its sickly glow. Somewhere a sound, a cackling, echoed.

"Excellent, you're awake, Nigel Uno. I was worried you would miss all the fun."

_That voice...I've heard it before...I've had nightmares of that voice..._

A loud buzzing sound erupted. He struggled against his bonds.

"Don't worry, this will only hurt..._a lot_."

More cackling. And then only pain and the sound of his own screaming.

Beams of light. Padded footsteps. So many voices. Calm, collected voices.

"In here! I've found them! Numbuh 86, in here!"

_Another voice, I know this voice...strong, confident...I know him, don't I? But who? No, don't try remembering. _What_ is going on?_

More footsteps slapping against ground. Another beam of light.

"For crying out loud, it took you long enough, Numbuh 60! Of course, this is what I get for letting the_ stupidest_ boy in all of the Ki...Oh...oh my..."

_Now, _that_ voice I couldn't forget if I tried But why..._why_ is Fanny here? Where is here? What the hell is going on? And what on earth is with all the numbers?_

"No one touch _anything_. That's an order. Numbuh 60, contact Numbuh 362. We have to get them out of here...we have to get them back...get them back to Moonbase."

_That word again. Moonbase. What does Fanny know about Moonbase?_

Warm. The cozy warmth of a blanket wrapped firm and tight around his body. This place is familiar. This place is safe.

"How long will recovery take?"

_This voice._

"I'm not sure, sir. We don't know...not exactly...we've no idea what..."

Something soft lay over his hand, it gave a squeeze.

"Well then take a guess."

_This voice...it's so very..._

"Days, weeks...if ever."

The softness gone and something loud crashed across the room.

"Don't tell me that! They _will_ recover. The question was _when_."

_This voice...I don't just know this voice..._

"I'm sorry, sir. I just...can't be sure."

"Then get out and find me some answers!"

_I like this voice. I've been wanting to hear it, I just, can never remember._

The softness returned, clutching his hand tight.

"Fight this, Numbuh One. That's an order."

"Numbuh 362, sir."

Gone again and there was a light sigh.

"What is it, Fanny?"

"You have to make a decision soon, sir. What to do about..."

"I know. And I will."

"Yes, I'm sorry, sir. I know this is a...a hard time. But...rumors are beginning to spread. I've done my best to contain it but...there were a lot of operatives on the scene and..."

"And what do you suggest we tell them, Numbuh 86? We don't have any answers. We don't know what he's planning or what he's done to Sector V."

_Yes, answers would be nice. Like, for instance, what exactly is a Sector V? And who is _he_?_

"All we can do...the only thing we can do...is wait."

The softness once more returned.

Black. It stretched outside the large window pane behind a desk. In the far distance was a glittering blue ball. Another blurry figure, tiger stripes, paced in front of that window. He stood across the room, at attention, flanked on both sides by those four others.

_The team?_

"And you've gathered no other intel?"

_What am I talking about? Intel on what?_

"...No." More pacing. "He lured you kids out there. We should've known it was a trap."

"_Numbuh Five_ knew it was a trap."

_There's that other voice again. She's familiar...so familiar. I can't remember who she is._

"_I_ should've known it was a trap. I'm so sorry, Numbuh One, I failed you...I failed _all _of you..."

"No, Numbuh 362. I was the one who let my team fall. If I had been a better leader..."

"I was the one that gave the orders!"

"But I was the one that was there."

"Aw...come on you guys, there's plenty of blame to share."

_So disarmingly sweet that voice. Almost like...Kuki...?_

"Numbuh Three is right. We shouldn't be fighting over who's at fault, what we should be doing is focusing on this new threat."

_When was I ever so...so...rational and decisive?_

"But what can we do? We know so little about it and if our intelligence is right, his plans won't even go into action until long after you...we...are all decommissioned."

_Decommissioned. Why does that word cause me so much heartache? I feel like I've heard it before, pulsing in my mind._

"Unless, we postpone your..."

"No. Out of the question. We simply must make do with the time we have."

.._.time we have...I regret those words. I regret it all. But why? Was there not enough time? What is happening? What are these visions? Who are these people? When did this all occur? I don't understand. _

_No. Time. There is still time to stop it. But stop _what_? I can't remember._

_I have to remember._

_I'm letting them all down again._

_But who am I letting down? And what do I need to stop?_

Nigel awoke abruptly, jerking upright. Heart pounding and gasping for air. Wild-eyed he took in his surroundings. He was laying on a cot fully clothed, his books were set to the side. There was a curtain hung around him, for privacy he assumed. The tiled ceiling and pale lighting meant he was still at school. Most likely the nurse's office.

Wearily, he sank back down and ran a hand over his head, it was filmed with sweat. His skin was cold and clammy. He tried to remember why he was there.

Lizzie.

That morning – was it still the same day? Of course, it had to be – he had run into Lizzie. They had walked together, chatted. She was still as charming as he remembered her to be. They had spoke of England, the Queen's land. Home? No, it didn't feel that way anymore. But this wasn't yet home either.

They had turned a corner. There was a bully; Elmo or Bert something. He was wearing a fedora, two lackey's at his side, and he had a young, flatulent student pushed against the lockers. He was demanding the youngster's lunch money. Nigel saved the boy; which turned out to be Hoagie's younger brother.

That was right. He'd identified the aviator gear on the boy's head as hand-me-downs from the older Gilligan. It still baffled Nigel, how had he known?

And then, the headache again.

"I passed out," Nigel mouthed realization. Lizzie and Tommy must have brought him to the nurse.

Nigel felt parched, he tried to swallow but there was only dryness in his throat. He tried to recall the dreams that had plagued him in however many hours he'd been out. He remembered voices, familiar yet still unrecognizable. A mesh of events, blurry shapes, and conversations about things he knew nothing about.

Moonbase. Decommissioned. Nigel furrowed a brow and tried to sort out the jumbled pieces in his mind. He wondered how much of it were real, if any of it. Maybe they were all just nightmares.

The curtain pulled back suddenly and Nigel straightened, startled from his reminiscence. A plump woman in a white uniform stood there. Her eyes widened when she saw him awake.

"Oh, Mister Uno, you've decided to finally return from slumberland, I see," she greeted cheerily. Nigel nodded, tried to pull himself from the cot, only for her to rush over and hold him in place with a hand on his shoulder, "No, no, dear. You really shouldn't be standing until I've had a chance to check you out. You were unconscious for a couple hours, I just put in a call to your parents."

"Was I really?" Nigel exclaimed, "What time is it now?"

"First lunch is almost over," the nurse informed him. She seemed overly happy and sweet, which perturbed Nigel, though he wasn't sure why.

She pulled a chair over to his bedside and pressed her fingers to his neck, feeling for his pulse while watching the seconds tick by on her watch. After that was done she shined a light in each of his eyes, then checked his ears with another strange tool. He sat patiently as she ran through these basic procedures, continuing to mull things over in his mind.

Fanny, it struck him suddenly. Fanny had been there, in his dream. Or maybe she hadn't, and he'd just placed her there in the mess of memory and fantasy.

But if she had been, he mentally debated, what could that mean? He wondered if it were possible she knew what was really going on, perhaps she could explain the dreams, the numbers, the weird feeling of knowing without knowing.

"Well, dear, it looks like everything is in working order," the nurse announced. She made her way over to a desk and found a clipboard of papers. She jotted something down, saying, "I am sending you home, though, and I recommended your parents take you to the hospital for a full check-up. Your mother should be here to pick you up shortly. You'll be alright to walk to the front office, right, dear?""

He nodded, carefully lifting himself to his feet and making to gather his belongings. She ripped a piece of paper off the board and brought it to Nigel, he took it from her.

"Take this with you and give it to the attendance secretary. They'll get you signed out when you're mother arrives."

"Right. Thank you, ma'am," Nigel replied. He headed out the door and down the hall.

The dream was fading the longer he was awake and processing reality. He could barely recall any details of it, or any of the conversations he knew took place. What came first, the blistering cold or sweltering heat? He spun round a corner, nearing the office, and nearly stumbled backward when an arm struck across his chest, gently sweeping him away.

His eyes shot up from the ground and met the intense dark eyes of a surprised young woman. A new onrush of visions assaulted Nigel's still recovering mind and he gripped the wall for support.

"Abigail," the name fell easily from his mouth. The girl's brow drew together. He cleared his throat, straightened, then asked, "Are you...by any chance...Abigail Lincoln?"

The bell rang overhead signaling the end of lunch period. She hitched the tote bag hanging over her shoulder higher up.

"I...uh...class...gotta go," she hastily murmured, swiftly moving past.

Nigel shook his head. Maybe he'd been wrong. But that swirl of emotion and confusion was unmistakeable.

"It was nice running into you though," the girl called over her shoulder behind him, "Nigel."

By the time he spun round she was gone.

-1-2-3-4-5-

Front door closed with a soft click and the dark figure, clutching the weapon with electrical head, moved through the dimly lit house. He paused. There was a low hiss of static buzzing somewhere in the house. He crept towards it, opened another door to a backroom.

It was there that he found her, long black hair falling down her back in torrential waves. One hand lay over a protruding stomach, the other clutched a strange device not unlike a radio receiver, connected to a a silver box with multiple dials and buttons.

"Mother?" he called.

She stirred. Through the strands of her lengthy locks streaked across her pale face, she stared at him with one intense, nearly black eye.

He shifted, awkward, asked, "Still no word from RADD?"

She turned her attention back to the radio device.

"Then we truly are alone now."

"Shut up," she sneered, "You don't know that."

Silence. The static continued its monotonous buzz.

"Don't you have things you're supposed to be doing?" she demanded, "The countdown to D-Less Day has begun. There can't be any screw ups now, there won't be any more second chances."

"I know that."

"Then where is the Devourer? Have you taken care of that?"

"I'm handling it."

"Handle it _faster_. Or need I remind you what will happen..."

"I know what needs to be done," he snapped, slamming the weapon against the door frame in a whir of electrical current.

Mother looked unimpressed. She put the device in her hand down with a hard crack.

"Like father like son," she muttered.

He flinched but said nothing, hefting the weapon on his shoulder and turning away.

* * *

A/N: I was so excited for this chapter, because it went into Lizzie's character and motives a bit. I hope it came off alright, and there wasn't too much terrible with this chapter. I tried to proof it while half asleep. There's a bit of contradictory information in this also. Current KND thinks GANDER wasn't important, but in Lizzie's flashback Nigel is talking about going on Operation GANDER and mentions that it's a very important mission. Also, don't confuse Nigel's dreams with Operation GANDER, the two are connected, but remember the timeline. Numbuh 362 would have been decomissioned by the time of GANDER.

GANDER, by the way, is the name for a female goose.

I'm so glad there were so many familiar names on the review board for last chapter. It warms my heart to know that so many of you were looking forward to my update. I'll try not to let you guys down. There were a few missing names though that disheartened me a bit...I hope to hear from you guys soon. I'm also glad for the names I wasn't familiar with, new reviewers are so awesome! I love you all and I'm off to do review responses for last chapter.

Let me know what you thought of this one please! As always, dying to know what you think!


	15. Chapter 14

Quick author's note: Hello...wow...it feels so weird to be back here again. In the past...has it been seven or eight months...since last I updated, I have been to hell and back and once more to hell again. Now, here I am! Back! I'm sorry if I worried anyone, and I know I did, but (and I think I may have mentioned this in the past) I do intend to finish this fanfic, no matter how long it takes. Not because I've worked so hard on it I can't leave it unfinished, not because so many people are eager to see how it ends (though, that really does help motivate me), and not because I just love this fanfic so much but because I need to prove to myself that I can...finish it, that is.

So, long overdue, here is the next installment of FRAGMENTS.

* * *

Chapter 14

Final period dismissal bell rang and Tommy bounded out of his last class gratefully. The day had gone a lot better than his first, mostly due to the heroic appearance of Nigel Uno saving his dignity and lunch money. Tommy gripped the straps of his backpack tight, weaving his way through the hall towards his locker and turning the day's earlier events over in his head.

He'd been surprised to see the former Numbuh 1. Last he'd heard, the Uno family had returned to England. But to be saved by Nigel was another feeling entirely. For a moment, Tommy had forgotten that Nigel had underwent decommissioning, almost calling him by the Numbuh Nigel could no longer recall ever having gone by.

Shortly after Nigel's arrival and heroics, Tommy had been hit with another surprise. Nigel knew Hoagie. Sadly, Tommy knew that the two boys hadn't managed to salvage a friendship after decommissioning, and then Nigel's transfer shortly after, meant Nigel should not have any remaining memory of Hoagie from their respective childhoods. Which could only mean, they only recently met.

_Did those belong to Hoagie?_

Tommy ghosted a hand over his aviator cap and drew his brow together. At the time, he hadn't thought much of Nigel's seemingly innocuous question, but now that he had mulled over the conversation, Tommy found it curious. Nigel could not have known that the cap and goggles once belonged to the elder Gilligan sibling without having some remnant of a memory of his childhood with Hoagie, memories that decommissioning should have thoroughly wiped away.

Even more curious was Nigel's sudden black out.

_Moonbase._ Tommy was _sure_ he'd seen Nigel mouth the word before collapsing to the ground. The Moonbase was something Nigel should definitely have _no_ recollections of whatsoever.

Something strange was going on.

Tommy toyed with the idea of alerting the Kids Next Door but quickly shook that thought away. Whether he liked it or not, Tommy was a teenager now and, by association of age, a hated enemy of the organization he once idolized and, admittedly, still cherished. There did not exist the operative that would take credence in any intel he provided.

Furthermore, Tommy didn't want to expose himself. His career as a Kids Next Door operative had been short-lived and he had only escaped traditional decommissioning due to a loophole brought on by his own regrettably heroic actions. For the past six or so years, the mishap that allowed him to retain his memories of time served in the Kids Next Door had gone unnoticed and he very much wanted it to stay that way.

After all, if he hadn't kept his memories, he never would have been able to reform friendships with Lee and Sonya after their own decommissionings.

Tommy sighed, shaking his head disgustedly at the tiled floor.

Unfortunately, the only plausible explanation Tommy could come up with for Nigel having memories of his childhood serving the Kids Next Door – unpleasant an idea as it were – was that Nigel had escaped decommissioning and joined the "dark side". It would be too heartbreaking for Tommy if one of his most revered childhood heroes were now a Teen Ninja.

Tommy frowned. Some things still did not make sense.

Nigel had come to his rescue that morning. Though a teen himself, Tommy was still just a freshman. Teen Ninjas, unlike children, had a strict hierarchy that they followed to a 'T'. No junior Teen Ninja would come to the aid of a freshman, it would be a grievous break in their organizations protocol.

But that left...nothing. There could be no other explanation. Numbuh 1 was gone, yet somehow, Nigel managed to hold on to memories of him.

"But why Nigel and not Hoagie?" Tommy complained aloud, ignoring the strange looks students he passed in the hallway shot him.

If Numbuh 2 still existed in his entirety, then Tommy's brother would have certainly taught that jerk Ernest a lesson or two about stealing lunch money.

"Hey, Tommy! Over here!"

Tommy paused, startled from his musings and darted a look around the hall. Sonya waved at him from her locker, Lee standing quietly to the side. Tommy grinned and made his way over.

"Hi guys," he greeted, "How were your classes?"

"Math quiz," Lee replied, yo-yo dropping to the ground then spinning back up.

"On only the second day, can you believe it?" Sonya ranted, "And I have a three page research report to write for history. It's due on Friday."

"Wow! Lame," Tommy decried, "And I thought I had it bad. Three tests on Friday."

Lee shook his head in sympathy for his two friends.

"Man, this high school stuff is hard," Tommy went on, "You would think they'd go a little easier the first week."

Sonya shut her locker and shouldered her bag. She began down the hall for the exit, and both boys fell in step beside her.

"Yeah, tell me about it. I have a test in English and math on Friday," she told the boys, "Harvey and me are going to study tomorrow at his place. You guys should come."

Lee made a face and Tommy noted it. He knew Lee was not a fan of Harvey, and Tommy couldn't help but feel the same most days. Unfortunately, Sonya's kind nature made it hard for her to turn Harvey's friendship away, and Lee and Tommy's fondness for Sonya made it hard for them to argue with her on the subject.

"Maybe," Tommy murmured.

The three fell silent for a moment.

"The bully?" Lee questioned, quirking his head at Tommy. Sonya glanced to him as well.

"No. After this morning, Ernest left me alone the rest of the day," Tommy answered, grinning, "I think he'll be leaving me alone for a good long while after what that Nigel guy I told you guys about did."

"Cool," Lee commented.

"Nigel is so awesome," Tommy continued, "I can't wait to tell Hoagie how much more awesome than him Nigel is."

Lee and Sonya exchanged a look.

"Maybe...maybe you shouldn't," Sonya suggested.

Tommy glanced at her quizzically.

"I mean, you should go easy on Hoagie," she said, "He really does try his best, you know."

"Well, his best isn't good enough," Tommy snapped, "A big brother is supposed to defend the younger! That's what big brothers are for, you know?"

"Really? Always wondered..." Lee murmured.

Tommy ignored him, continuing to say, "Besides, Hoagie needs to know that his place as my number one hero, the person I look up to and rely on most in this world, is at stake and that he needs to step up his game."

Sonya sighed and Lee decided that a new direction of conversation might be in order.

"Fun-fun seems...interesting," Lee commented.

"If by interesting you mean suspicious, then yeah, he's interesting," Tommy grumbled.

"By interesting we mean suspicious," Sonya informed him, deadpan. Tommy blinked, startled. He looked between his two friends staring at him in all seriousness.

"Oh." Tommy readjusted his backpack. He couldn't help smiling somewhat at his friends' admission, having thought himself the only one distrusting of 'Fun-fun'. For just a moment, he glimpsed in Sonya and Lee the Numbuhs 83 and 84 that they once were.

"So...Leo Fun-Fun..." Tommy wondered aloud, "What could he be hiding?"

Leo Fun-Fun had turned out to be quite the riddle. Whenever asked a question about himself or his family, he only ever returned half-answers or dodged the questions entirely, giving round about responses that never actually contained any information. Tommy wouldn't have cared about the boy's desire to keep his personal life a secret if not for the infuriating fact that he seemed to want to keep it a secret that he wanted to keep his personal life a secret.

"He certainly seemed fascinated by Hoagie," Sonya pointed out.

Tommy nearly bowled over at that observation.

"What?" he gaped, but before the word tumbled from his mouth, he realized there was truth to her statement. When they had met up with Hoagie after school that day, every question Leo had, in fact, nearly everything he said had been directed at the elder Gilligan.

"I almost got the feeling Leo was only there yesterday because he wanted to hang out with Hoagie. That's strange, isn't it?" Sonya said.

"Now that you mention it..." Tommy conceded, "But he's new this year. He's never met Hoagie. Why would he be so interested in someone he'd never met?"

Unless he had met Hoagie before. Tommy didn't like the possibilities this new revelation suggested. Hoagie had no recollection of his life as a Kids Next Door operative, but that didn't mean others from that life didn't remember him.

Nigel's reappearance and seeming retention of pre-decommissioning memories was concerning but this Leo character raised serious alarms for Tommy. It was possible Leo was a Teen Ninja, or operating on their behalf. But to what end?

"Tommy?" Sonya prodded. The three friends had exited the school and were standing at the front walkway near the parking lot now, "What do you think we should do?"

Leo's interest in Hoagie could be harmless. But if the Teen Ninjas had grand plans for Tommy's brother...

"I need to know more about Leo," Tommy mumbled, more to himself than his friends.

"We investigate," Lee determined. Tommy startled from his thoughts.

"Huh?"

"Ooo, like detectives," Sonya squealed, clapping her hands together excitedly, "I like it! Can we wear trench coats and fedoras?"

"No," Lee and Tommy answered in unison, in varying degrees of peevish. Sonya's expression fell a bit.

"I guess we'll investigate Leo Fun-Fun, then," Tommy announced, though he wasn't quite sure how to go about it.

"Hey! Tommy! Lee! Sonya!" came a nearby shout.

The three teens glanced to their caller. It was Hoagie, weaving his way through the crowd towards them.

"What are you guys doing? We need to get going home, I have to work tonight," he told them, "Hurry up, let's go."

The younger teens hurried to follow their driver to his truck. Tommy fell back into his pondering once more.

Numbuh 2 had been great at investigative work and Tommy could certainly use the operative's skills while looking into Leo's ulterior motives. Unfortunately, he thought glumly, all he had was useless Hoagie.

-5-4-3-2-1-

Patty checked her cellphone for the fifth time since she and Kuki had taken up waiting beside Kuki's Beetle for Fanny.

"So...who are you waiting on to call you?" Kuki asked teasingly. Patty tucked the phone away and smiled at the petite Asian.

"I'm not waiting on a call," she replied, "I'm just...checking the time."

Kuki leaned back against her car, watching students cross the parking lot towards their own respective vehicles or lining up for the buses. Patty's answer seemed harmless enough but it also felt like a lie. Kuki reflected back to the lunch break and her conversation with Anna Worthington.

_I know a well crafted public image when I see it._

Kuki glanced Patty sidelong. She found it hard to believe that anyone could put on such an act, pretending to be cute and sweet when in reality...Kuki furrowed her brow. What was the reality?

Again, Patty checked her phone. She pressed a few buttons, made a face, pushed a few loose strands of brown hair from out of her eyes. Kuki thought back to the first day she'd met Patty.

_Excuse me...is this seat taken? I'm Patricia...Patricia Juni...its so nice to meet you...what cute berets, I love butterflies!_

Just the right combination of sweet and polite.

Kuki liked to think of herself as a fairly good judge of character but, as Ace and so many others often pointed out, she really just gave everyone the benefit of the doubt. Of course, she always considered it a silly criticism. She had no reason not to trust someone as being anything but the person they presented themselves as.

Regardless, Kuki believed that no matter how a person tried, how they acted and behaved whether it was genuine or false, they could never hide who they really were deep inside. Even in actions perfectly orchestrated to fit whatever personality they wanted others to see them as having their true personality could be seen underneath. That is, if another were looking hard enough to see.

Most people never looked hard enough. But Kuki couldn't help it. She wanted to see into everyone's hearts, if only to feel, for a moment, connected with them. She smiled sullenly. If only to feel, for a moment, connected.

"I was thinking..." Kuki suddenly said, "...about Ace."

Patty startled, looking to her friend bewildered.

"Why?" she replied a bit sharply, then seeming to catch herself, she flustered and questioned, "I mean...did something happen?"

Kuki covered a smile. Blushing at the mere mention of Ace, Patty definitely had a crush. Perhaps that was the answer to her, allegedly, well-constructed and entirely false persona.

"No, no, silly," Kuki giggled, then candidly admitted, "I was just thinking you and Ace would be a nice match."

Patty went blank. She blinked several times, her mouth a tiny frown. She glanced at her phone again, as though looking for something to say written across its front screen.

Kuki sighed, her eyes straying across the parking lot once more. She flushed a little, realizing shamefully she kept looking to the same spot, where a lone motorcycle rested awaiting its rider.

"Don't even joke about something like that," Patty quietly muttered. Kuki glanced to her, still staring blank-faced at her phone.

Kuki felt a pang in her chest.

So that was it. Patty didn't think herself good enough for Ace.

Kuki straightened, folding her arms over her stomach and turning slightly to her mousy friend. It was time for a serious heart-to-heart.

"I know Ace likes me," Kuki whispered.

Patty flickered her eyes up to meet shimmering sloe.

"Everyone at school talks about it," Kuki went on, "And..." she dropped her voice low, "I've thought about it. He's so nice and caring, and he's _really_ hot."

"Kuki..." Patty groaned.

"What? I'm not blind! He is hot," Kuki laughed, "But..." her eyes trailed back to that spot. She saw a familiar blond walking towards the motorcycle accompanied by a less familiar red-head and quickly darted her eyes away, color tinging her cheeks, "I don't know why, but...I can't see Ace as anything more than a friend."

"Really?" A glimmer of hope sprung to the mousy girl's face.

Kuki shrugged, "Not for lack of trying, believe me," she slumped against the car again and distantly confessed, "Sometimes I think it would be easier if I just dated him."

"If you don't like him like that, how could it be easier?" Patty argued, suddenly seized with a fiery passion, "You'd be forcing yourself and, even if it would make him happy and everyone else, you would be miserable. Sacrificing yourself for the greater whole is _stupid, _it only hurts you and the people you love. My father made that mistake – choosing what he thought was best for everyone else – and it just left the people he was supposed to be there for, the people he was supposed to care about, alone and miserable. That's why you have to make the decisions that are right for you and you alone, everyone else be damned."

Kuki stared at her friend in stun. For a moment, just a fraction of a moment, soft-spoken Patty had almost looked like Fanny during one of the Irish girl's most heated rages.

Patty flustered immediately after finishing her tirade, burying her face sheepishly in her hand. Her mouse brown hair spilled over her shoulder, further obscuring her features.

"I'm so sorry," she cried, "I should not have said _any_ of that."

Kuki found a piece of pavement to focus her attention on. Both girls stood silently next to one another, mulling over the outburst. Finally, Kuki grinned broadly and flung her arms around Patty's neck.

"It's alright, silly," she announced cheerfully, releasing the surprised girl and peering encouragingly into her face, "You were just telling me what you thought, there's nothing wrong with that." Kuki settled back against the car and sighed, "And...you're right. Making that kind of a decision just because everyone wants me to is silly. It would only hurt the people I care about and I could never do that."

Patty peeked out at Kuki. It was true. Kuki could never intentionally do anything to hurt the people she cared about, or even those she didn't.

"You know, you've never talked about your parents before," Kuki mused. Patty flushed again.

"There's not really anything to talk about," she hastily explained, mumbling, "My father was stupid and my mother had to pay for it." Patty took a deep breath then, pushing the hair out of her face, she smiled solemnly to her friend, "I guess I shouldn't say that. I never really knew him. My father...well...he abandoned my mom when she was pregnant. My mom tried to handle everything, couldn't...and I ended up with relatives. See? Nothing to talk about."

"Wow...Patty," Kuki whispered, shocked, "I never knew..."

Patty swiped at her cheek, knocking away an unshed tear, and shook her head emphatically.

"Don't do that. I don't want pity," Patty said softly, "It was a long time ago."

"It's still..."

"I'm long since over it," Patty assured Kuki, then wistfully remarked, "I just...don't ever want to see it happen again, is all. I guess it makes me say things I really shouldn't...to you and Fanny..."

"Phsh...shush," Kuki waved a dismissing hand, "You're our friend. If you shouldn't say those things, then who should?" Kuki linked their arms and grinned again, "Just like, as _your friend_, I should say that I think you and Ace would make a really cute couple."

Patty leaned against Kuki's shoulder and smiled distantly.

"Right," she murmured, then said in a tone that felt far heavier than necessary for such a menial sentiment, "Thanks, Kuki."

The girls stood like that, catching sight of and watching as their long awaited third friend made her way towards them.

Fanny looked flustered, her face splotched red and mouth pursed tight, turning white around the corners. She came to a stop at the Beetle and placed her hands on her hips. Kuki and Patty eyed her curiously.

"What's wrong?" Kuki voiced both girls' concerns.

"Boys..." Fanny grumbled, "...are so _stupid_."

"You and Ricky aren't still fighting, are you?" Patty questioned. Kuki glanced between the two and crinkled her nose.

"You and Ricky are fighting?"

"Yes and...yes," Fanny muttered. Her arms dropped to her sides and she lowered her face. "We tried to talk after class, but...we just ended up arguing again. I don't even know what we're fighting about anymore, I just..._ugh_! Let's just get the hell out of here. I think I'll feel a bit better when this hole is in the rear-view."

"Well then, we should stop at the mall. Do a little therapy shopping," Kuki suggested, tugging her keys out and clicking the security button to unlock her car. Patty and Fanny voiced agreement.

On the road, Fanny continued raging over her recent bout with Ricky.

"...and then he had the nerve to say that I only _pretend_ to like musicals so he'll think I'm more cultured than I really am," she growled.

"But you do only pretend to like musicals," Kuki pointed out.

"Well, maybe," Fanny grumbled, "But it's not to lie to him, or impress him, or anything. Its because _he_ likes musicals that I pretend to like them. I do it to make him happy!"

"Because you care about him," Patty added helpfully.

"Of course because I care about him!"

Kuki rolled her eyes, thinking back to Patty's earlier words and murmuring, "But...you shouldn't have to force yourself so much."

Patty caught Kuki's eye in the rear-view mirror and something flashed in the mousy girl's expression. Kuki turned her attention on the road, confused. Those were Patty's own words, why would she be bothered to hear the advice she'd given Kuki moments ago used again on Fanny?

"I think I just need a break," Fanny admitted, causing both Kuki and Patty to raise their brows.

"You're breaking up with Ricky?" Kuki cried in disbelief.

"No, Fanny," Patty argued, "Why would you do that? Because of one little fight?"

Fanny turned several shades redder and her expression faltered. She fell back into her seat, the heat of her anger seeming to dissipate, and folded her hands neatly in her lap.

"N-no, I don't mean I'm breaking up with him," Fanny amended, "I just meant..." She chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully and smoothed out the creases in her skirt, "Maybe this weekend I won't go out with Ricky," her eyes lit suddenly and she said, "_We_ should do something. Just us girls. I mean, what with me fighting with Ricky and...I heard about your little spat with Ace, Kuki. So this weekend, I think we should forget them and have fun."

"Oh! We could have a slumber party! We haven't had one in _so_ long," Kuki exclaimed, "We could do mani-pedi's and make-overs! We could watch romantic movies all night, eat pizza. Ah! It would be so much fun."

"I don't know," Fanny murmured, "Slumber party is a bit tamer than I wanted. I just feel like doing something...something I know would piss Ricky off."

Kuki tapped her wheel thoughtfully, humming to herself. She didn't think it was a good idea but...she could kind of understand. Because since that morning, a part of her wanted to do something, _anything_, just to hurt Ace. She made a face, immediately regretting the thought, guilt washing over her.

Again, Patty glanced at her phone. Eyes downcast, she somberly suggested, "There's a party this weekend."

Fanny perked at that.

"A party?" Kuki mused, "Who's having a party?"

From her expression, she clearly was picturing something akin to a child's birthday with pony rides, balloons and banners, and funny pointed hats. She was confused, because that image didn't equate to a pissed off Ricky.

"Beatles," Fanny supplied and Kuki's face flushed, "I heard some people talking about it at school."

"Beatles?" Kuki meekly questioned, "As in..._Wally_ Beatles?"

"Of course, _Wally_ Beatles. What other Beatles is there?" Fanny replied, then smirked, "Going to Wally Beatles' party would definitely upset Ricky..._and_ if would _really_ upset Ace."

Patty fidgeted with her phone then decidedly shoved it away.

"We really shouldn't though. I mean, Wally Beatles...his parties are always really crazy," she said, "There's always alcohol and drugs...and...and...some of the worst kids from school show up. And...I mean, he's usually got a very elite guest list and tight security. Not just anyone can come to his parties. There's no way we could get on that list, right?"

"Oh, _please_, Patty. Just who do you think I am?" Fanny replied and relief seemed to wash Patty's face. It was a short-lived relief though when Fanny announced proudly, "I can totally get us on that guest list."

"You can?" Kuki gaped, in awe.

"Course," Fanny grinned, jutting out her chin and puffing up her chest, "I've got an in with Beatles. Trust me, I know just how to work him. This time tomorrow, we'll not only be on that guest list, we'll be at the very top as VIP."

Kuki glanced at her friend, surprised. Since when did Fanny know how to "work" Wally Beatles, let alone know or care who he even was. He was quite a distance from the girls' rung on the high school social ladder.

"I don't know, Fanny," Kuki murmured, despite the flutter of excitement in her heart at the thought of attending a party thrown by Wally, "Forget about Ricky and Ace, my parents would _kill me_ if they knew I went to a party where there was alcohol and drugs."

"That's true," Patty agreed, "Won't your parents be upset too, Fanny?"

Fanny tossed her bright red hair over a shoulder and snorted lightly.

"Listen to the both of you. Acting as if neither of you have ever snuck out of the house or slipped in past curfew," Fanny scoffed, "It's not like we're going to _ask_ our parents if we can go to this party."

Patty and Kuki did not look convinced. Fanny gave an exaggerated sigh.

"Come on, girls, we have to live a _little_," she cried, "You're right, Kuki, forget about Ricky and Ace _and_ our parents. This is about us. We are wasting away our high school lives, and more importantly, wasting away our potential. You know the saying, good girls never make history. Just toeing the line, the way that we always have in the past, no longer cuts it."

"What's so wrong with toeing the line? I like toeing the line," Kuki argued.

"Because it feels like...like...like we're reaching for something but we never quite grab it," Fanny retorted.

"Yeah. Reaching for a fire, maybe," Kuki muttered.

"And just what exactly is so wrong with it being a fire?" Fanny pressed, "So we get burned a little. Walk away with a few scars. They only show that _we were there._ Isn't _that_ what matters?"

Kuki pulled into a parking space outside the mall and looked, exhausted, at her friend.

_Reaching out for something_..._never quite grabbing it_.

Kuki knew that feeling well. And she knew what she was reaching out for, and it was not a fire. For a brief moment, Wally Beatles flickered across her mind, and her cheeks warmed.

Okay, not _exactly_ a fire.

But, she also knew the fear that kept her from reaching too far, from grabbing that something.

What if she couldn't hold on?

Talking of scars as proof of existence was all well and fine in theory but Kuki knew more about scars than she cared to admit. The kind that cut deep, that felt raw and jagged, and that, no matter how much time passed, never quite seemed to fully heal.

Memories of non-memories flickered through her mind's eye. _A day at the beach...sunlight streaming through the branches of a tree...laughing with four friends that never were_...

Kuki blinked away the tears threatening to form. She wondered, could she – should she – tease herself like that. Go to his party as if, in the smallest of ways, she were any part of his life. As if...as if...she knew him.

"Okay," Kuki whispered, turning off her car engine and removing the key from the ignition, "Okay. Let's go to the party."

Fanny clapped her hands together excitedly and threw her arms around Kuki in a quick embrace. Kuki giggled at her friend's elation and Patty sighed but smiled fondly at the two.

"Great! I'll get us on the list, first thing tomorrow morning," Fanny exclaimed, she turned to Patty pleadingly, "Okay?"

Patty rolled her eyes.

"Okay...okay...how could I say no to that face?"

As they clambered out of the car, Kuki noticed Patty trail behind. She nonchalantly tug her phone out again and pushed a few buttons as though typing a text message. She clicked a final button – send? – then tucked her phone away once more.

Kuki furrowed her brow together, _weird_, but said nothing. She thought again of Anna Worthington.

_Who exactly is Patty?_

-1-2-3-4-5-

Hoagie unpacked the new shipment of airplane models, while tapping his foot and humming to the music playing through the earbuds he wore. He was streaming his jazz channel on Pandora. The owner of the hobby shop where Hoagie worked, Mr. Washer, busied himself shining the counter top at the store front.

It was another predictably slow day. Hoagie didn't usually work school days, but new shipments had come in and needed unloading. Mr. Washer was an older man, Hoagie didn't like the idea of him lifting such heavy boxes on his own so Hoagie always volunteered to help unload, even if it meant a cut in his normal wages to make his time fit the store budget.

Hoagie enjoyed working at the hobby shop. Not a lot of kids were interested in their merchandise those days, too enthralled by video games and television shows, but the few that came in, Hoagie knew how to relate to. They trusted Hoagie's opinion on which model kits to buy, what glue worked best for which materials, and how to adjust fin shape and size for maximum lift-off.

Not to mention, Hoagie got a nice employee discount on everything in the store.

Mr. Washer was a lenient boss, too. He didn't mind Hoagie listening to music through headphones, or spending his evening weekend shifts studying and doing homework, so long as there weren't any customers in the store or anything to clean.

Hoagie's phone rang, pausing his music. He pulled the device out and frowned at the screen, removing an earbud. He answered.

"What do you want?" Hoagie demanded.

"My, aren't we in a chipper mood," came the very British response.

"I'm at work," Hoagie muttered, though it didn't really matter. Mr. Washer didn't mind if Hoagie took personal phone calls during slumps either.

Sometimes, the old geezer would even egg Hoagie after the call, _who was that...a cute girl maybe?_ And Hoagie would respond, _sure_, mentally finishing, _if mom counts as a cute girl_.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know," Nigel said, and he sounded genuine. Hoagie relaxed a bit, adjusting the phone to cradle between his shoulder and ear, as he worked on shelving the model kits. He felt a pang of guilt at his initial snark.

The real reason for Hoagie's annoyance was more shallow and, also, far outside of Nigel's control. On the entire ride home, Hoagie had to listen to his little brother gush about meeting Nigel, and being saved by Nigel, and gee whiz, Hoagie, isn't Nigel so incredibly awesome.

Yeah, awesome. Totally the word Hoagie would've used.

"It's not a big deal," Hoagie replied, gritting back his irateness. After all, it wasn't the Brit's fault Hoagie was a wussy loser his brother could no longer look up to, "What did you need?"

"I met Abigail."

Hoagie nearly dropped the phone, and fumbled to catch it. He smashed it back against his ear and stammered, "You did?"

"Yes. We had a run-in shortly after I awoke." Nigel sounded somber. Probably recalling the encounter. Hoagie didn't like the tone.

Nigel had mentioned thinking Kuki was attractive, but a bit too ditzy for his tastes. Abby was attractive, and _far_ from ditzy. Hoagie wondered if that meant, perhaps Abby was more to Nigel's tastes.

That was just fine, Hoagie thought haughtily. Nigel and that annoying Whistler kid could compete for Abigail's attention. He didn't care. And why should he. Abigail _hated_ him.

Especially after what he'd said to her that morning.

Hoagie froze, realizing he'd been jamming the model kits haphazardly on the wrong shelf. He sighed, moving them neatly where they belonged.

"What do you mean by, 'awoke'?" Hoagie asked disinterestedly. He smirked at the idea of _awesome_ Nigel sleeping through class. Not that Tommy would find it all impressive that his big brother could stay wide-awake through the most boring of lectures but it kind of felt like a win.

"Oh. Yes. I passed out," Nigel answered candidly, "_That_ happened shortly after I met _your_ little brother." He made an odd noise at the back of his throat, then quietly questioned, "Um...about him...he looks...does he look at all like you...when you were younger?"

Hoagie shrugged, fighting to chuckle at the notion of Nigel 'fainting'. Now _that_ was definitely a win.

"I guess...sort of."

"I mean, you mentioned being overweight...but...with the aviator cap and...the goggles? The blue shirt...brown trousers?" Nigel pressed.

"Yeah, yeah. He wears a lot of my hand-me-downs," Hoagie confirmed, "They were all mine. I stopped wearing them about...eighth grade-ish. Come to think of it, not long after..."

"You turned thirteen," Nigel surmised. Hoagie made a face at the boxes in his hands.

"Lucky guess," he muttered, peevishly, "Why do you ask?"

"Because it seemed to trigger something..." Nigel explained, "Like...a memory...but I don't know. I just remembered looking at it and feeling this intense pain, more intense than the headaches I get around yourself and...well...you know, the other three."

"So," Hoagie murmured, "Abby too, then?"

"Yes," Nigel confessed, "Abby too. But...different..."

Hoagie straightened, "Different?"

"I can't explain it. She's just...different. Though I suppose, I get a different feeling from each of you. Her...well...she's just more poignantly so," Nigel elucidated.

Hoagie scowled, slamming another box on the shelf.

"I see. Okay. Whatever. Don't tell me then, I don't care," he grumbled. He heard Nigel sigh heavily on the other end.

"Don't you understand, that's not important right now," the Brit hissed, "The weirdness factor in all of this just jumped several notches. I saw your brother and was _reminded of the younger version of you_. A version I – if we are to believe our current memories or lack thereof– never knew. And it caused something...like memories underlying my current memories...to rise to the surface."

Hoagie was beginning to seriously regret humoring this boy and his 'investigation'. He knew what came next.

"We have to talk to the others."

"Nigel..."

"You _promised_, Hoagie."

Hoagie groaned. He rubbed the keel of his hand in his face. He didn't actually say it was a _promise_.

"Okay. Fine. Tomorrow, we'll ask Kuki about it," he relented. Nigel growled in exasperation.

"We have to talk to _all_ of them!"

"I already told you," Hoagie snapped, "Wally scares me and Abby...well...Abby..." _Hates me. _"Never mind about Abby. For me, Kuki is the only safe one, the only one I will willingly strike up a conversation with, capisce?"

"Eventually, you realize, we need to speak to each of them?" Nigel pressed, "And you know I will only badger you about it until we do."

Hoagie glared darkly at the shelf in front of him. Nigel really would pester him until he agreed to speak with all three of the others. He was just that kind of a guy.

"Feh! A klog iz mir," he cursed, "Exactly _who_ up there did I piss off to deserve this?"

"I want answers, Hoagie, and I know despite all your whinging on about it that you do as well," Nigel argued, "But, you know, you have to take risks to get answers. And you won't be alone Hoagie. I will be there talking with them, right beside you."

Hoagie faltered. He wasn't sure how to respond.

_Alone._ Right. What did Nigel know about being alone?

Did he know what it was to sit on the sidelines because no one picked you to be on their team? Had he ever watched a bus roll away, leaving him behind on the field trip, because no one noticed he wasn't on it? Did he ever stare at the phone Friday...Saturday...Sunday night; hoping, waiting, wondering, _wishing_ that someone – anyone – would call? Had he ever searched helplessly for excuses to tell his mom about why none of the kids he gave invites to had showed up to his birthday party?

Hoagie doubted it. Just as he doubted Nigel would ever have given Hoagie a second look that first day of school were it not for this weird 'nostalgia' that connected them.

Yet, there was something about the way Nigel said those words..._I will be there...right beside you..._

Damn him.

"I know, I know," Hoagie sighed, "Just...give me time to process everything, alright? This is a lot for me."

There was quiet on the other end of the line and Hoagie contemplated saying a farewell.

"Moonbase," Nigel mumbled thoughtfully.

_Ba-bump_.

Hoagie gripped the shelf for support, a crack of white heat shot across his eyes.

"W-what?" he gasped.

Spiraling, spiraling through crisp blue air to the bleak white ground below.

"Does it mean anything to you?"

Meaning? Meaning...

Five. Five in pieces. One for each. Better this way.

"Hoagie...?"

Metal, shimmering, shining bright. Sharp. Serrated. Or...

A metal hand reaching to the sky. In pieces.

"...keep...apart..." Hoagie moaned.

Can't understand the meaning.

Ice. A fortress of ice. _Our last hurrah..._

"Are you alright, son?" Mr. Washer called from the counter.

_Son_? Father.

_I'm sorry._

This is a secret. A secret must be kept, no one can know. No one can ever know.

"Hoagie, are you still there?"

_Tell me, oh fearless leader_...

"Son, you don't look well. Maybe you ought to..."

Together.

..._if the past ceases to exist_...

"Will you please just answer me!"

Apart.

..._and the present crumbles to pieces_...

"Hoagie!"

Hoagie blinked, the world snapped back into focus. He took a few steadying breaths, shook his head and sent an assuring smile Mr. Washer's way only to realize his cheeks were damp with tears.

"Sorry...I'm here," Hoagie mumbled, wiping at his face and straightening, "Suddenly felt...sick...maybe something I ate. What were you saying?"

"It was _that word_, wasn't it?" Nigel surmised.

Hoagie said nothing.

"When I passed out, I had dreams," Nigel explained, "I think they were memories resurfacing. Unfortunately, _that word_ is all I can remember."

There was a jingle at the front door. A customer.

"I have to go," Hoagie said. Even to himself, his voice sounded automated.

"I understand. I'll tell you more about it at school."

"Great. Looking forward to it," Hoagie grumbled. He hung up, hastily stuffed the phone away and turned to greet the customer.

His face fell.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

..._what becomes of the future?_

* * *

Last note: This chapter actually went a slightly different direction than I intended. This was supposed to end "Tuesday", but since there are still events I was supposed to put in this chapter but didn't, "Tuesday" continues into and ends the next chapter.

Righty-o...let's see who's still interested in finding out what happens next in my whimsy little tale. Tell me what you think (read as: review) and I'll tell you who Patty is...

...

...

...eventually.


	16. Chapter 15

Author's Note: I'm thinking I'm going to try and update every Friday or Saturday, that's a worthy goal, don't'cha think? Of course, this and next week are FINALS week and I have to write and prepare for my last speech in communications class, to be delivered this coming Wednesday, so I might not be able to keep that goal for a bit. That, and the next chapter is giving me a bit of difficulty. I'm near finished with it but I'm thinking of scraping half of it and doing a total re-write. I don't know...maybe after I get that speech written I'll take a closer look at the chappie...

Also, I previouslly mentioned that I thought this story would be about 30 chapters long...I grossly underestimated. It may be closer to fifty or sixty chapters long...sigh...we'll see. Don't worry, though, the last half of the story is very action packed.

Anyhoo, enjoy this new installment of FRAGMENT!

* * *

Chapter 15:

Seven yellow buses lined the front of Willem High School. Freshmen and sophomores, amongst the odd junior and rare senior, rushed to fill their musty smelling, brown-washed interiors.

"What happened? You don't look happy."

"Quiet. I'm thinking."

"Great. Now I really want to know: what happened?"

"It doesn't concern you."

"You always say that..."

"Don't whine."

"Then tell me what happened. I could help!"

"No. You can't."

"I can help if Toki-"

"Shut up! You have such a big mouth. Do you want to screw everything up?"

"You're going to screw everything up! I mean, you missed the devourer..."

"I said, _shut up_." A sigh. "I don't have time to argue with you. I need to think."

"Don't have time...I thought we were good on time. There are still _ten whole days_ until D-Less Day."

"I'm not so sure..."

"What? How can you not be sure? That's the one thing we are sure about, the exact day."

"That was before. This is now. Things...things are happening ahead of schedule..."

"But we already knew..."

"Things_ I didn't plan on_ are happening ahead of schedule."

"Oh...so then...what do we do?"

"I don't know. That's why I need to think. Now shut up and leave me alone."

-5-4-3-2-1-

_What are _you_ doing here?_

The hulking mass that was Joe Balooka didn't quite fit right inside of the tiny hobby store. It gave him an appearance akin to a bull in a china shop. Hoagie couldn't help picturing the former football star simply turning around and accidentally knocking - Charlie Chaplin style - everything Hoagie had spent hours meticulously arranging off of the shelves.

"Now, now," Joe reprimanded, plucking up a model kit and examining it disinterestedly, "Is that any way to greet an old pal."

"Emphasis on old," Hoagie scoffed, folding his arms over his chest and staring Joe down. "But you're right. A far more appropriate greeting would be: what do you want me to do and how much are you paying me for it?"

Joe put the model kit back on the shelf and smirked at the other boy.

Hoagie and Joe went back, _way back. _As far back as Gallagher Elementary School, when they both served as Hall Monitors. There was something about wearing that orange belt that seemed to inexplicably tie two, otherwise, perfect strangers together. They understood a dark world most people barely ever glimpsed, the underbelly of Elementary school crime. In that understanding came the further realization that corruption and greed ran deep throughout humanity; even the so-called 'innocent' youth were not above or beyond terrible deeds purely for self-gratification.

Of course, that was as far as Hoagie and Joe's 'tie' went. It was the nature of the beast. Everyone looks into the abyss and sees something different. Hoagie saw a world he couldn't save and fell into miserable desolation. He became jaded and bitter. Joe, on the other hand...Joe liked what he saw.

Both eventually went separate ways from the Hall Monitors. But that was years ago, and had little to do with the boys' relationship now.

Hoagie and Joe were entangled in a complicated dance that's moves were reliant on the mood and situation of each boys' life. Sometimes they were friends, most times mutual beneficiaries, lately, they were barely acquaintances.

"Same ol' Hoagie. No reason to beat one's gums, just get right to business, eh?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Hoagie sneered, sounding anything but, "Did you want to chat? Perhaps about the weather? Been raining a lot lately...what are we at, like, two inches? Or maybe you just wanted to tell me how your bootlegging operations were going."

"Yup, same ol' Hoagie," Joe chuckled, "I get it, hotshot. You're too high and mighty to chew the fat with a nogoodnik like myself. That's alright. I'm just here hoping you'll throw an old friend a bone. I have a job I need your expertise for. Pays twenty clams, up front, forty more when the night's over."

Hoagie gave a low whistle. Sixty bucks in one night didn't sound too bad. He eyed Joe suspiciously all the same. After a moment, he picked the empty box that the model kits were packaged in off the ground and started breaking it down.

"Forget it," he muttered reply, "I know what kind of work you do and I don't want any part of it."

"Still playing the bluenose, I see," Joe teased. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, a move that gave an air of nervousness, then commented, "Look, Hoagie, I would never put you in the hot seat, you know that. We go too far back and been through too much together. If this job weren't on the up and up, I wouldn't be here offering it to you."

Hoagie lay the empty and, now, flattened box on a stack of others behind the front counter. Mr. Washer smiled thinly at him.

"When you're done restocking, I have some fliers I'd like you to hang around the neighborhood," the old man said, gesturing to a small package on a shelf behind the counter, "It'll be the last thing I need of you, tonight."

"Sure thing, Mr. Washer," Hoagie replied. He watched Joe from the corner of his eye. The hulk of a boy was now perusing the kite section. Hoagie let his mind wander.

Back in the day, when serving on the squad, Joe and Hoagie had performed what seemed a routine investigation that turned into something more sinister when a class pet went missing. Eight years old at the time, Hoagie hadn't been sure how to process the events surrounding that case and its eventual turn out; a dead guinea pig and twenty or so tear stained kindergarten faces.

_In the real-world, Gilligan, there are no superheroes. You can't leap tall buildings in a single bound, you can't stop speeding bullets, and you can't always be on time to save the day..._

Those words spoken over the frosty top of a mug of rootbeer hadn't been comforting but Hoagie had needed to hear them. Whether right or wrong, kind or cruel, Joe had always been there to say the things Hoagie needed to hear.

"Feh," Hoagie grumbled.

That was the past, when he and Joe were young, stupid kids. In the here and now, Hoagie was a loser nerd and Joe a kingpin of juvenile delinquency. They weren't friends, not partners in orange sashes, sipping drinks at the local soda bar and this was no friendly favor. It was business, plain and simple.

"What are the details?" Hoagie relented, sidling up next to Joe with his arms folded and eyes downcast.

"You've heard of Wally Beatles?" Joe questioned and Hoagie felt a headache coming on.

"Seems a lot more than I'd like lately, yeah," Hoagie muttered. Joe ignored the comment, studying the label of a particularly popular box kite, an import from France, not that Joe would know or care.

"He's having a party this weekend," Joe continued to explain, "And he's asked yours truly to provide the party favors."

Hoagie mentally translated 'party favors' as booze. Typical Joe to think of providing alcohol to minors as an 'up and up' job.

"Right. Sounds straightforward, what do you need me for? Transport?" Hoagie questioned.

"Security," Joe answered.

Hoagie quirked a brow at that. Joe put the kite back, turned to lean against the shelf and look down at Hoagie with a sarcastic smirk.

"Beatles is solid. I respect him. He's got guts and he ain't afraid to level with a guy...which is a lot more than I can say for the rest of the goons at that school."

"I didn't know you and him were so close," Hoagie bit out. He wondered at that feeling in him, a kind of jealousy he couldn't rationalize. Joe shrugged and smirked.

"We're not. Like I said, I respect him, kid's got an odd sense of loyalty. He's never double-crossed me in our dealings, don't think he ever would. Its a rare treat in my line of business," Joe coughed into his fist then smirked at the floor, "Unfortunately, he's also a real bozo. Keeps finding himself in cahoots with a hood I ain't too keen on, Ernest."

Hoagie's brow shot up but he remained silent. He just could not escape that bully.

"I can't tell you how many times the poor sap's found Ernie's knife in his back. I keep warning him..." Joe shook his head, "This party is Ernie's doing. He says its all about networking, but I think he's boondoggling Beatles."

"So you want to help Beatles out...because...you respect him? Well, it's nice to know there's some honor amongst thieves," Hoagie spoke up, "But I still don't understand what exactly you need me for?"

"You would be the ace up my sleeve. I know this party's a front, and I still ain't got Ernie entirely pegged, but I can take a pretty good guess what he might have planned. Beatles walks a thin line, one slip up and he'll be off busting rocks. Call me sentimental, but I don't want to see that happen to the kid."

"I'm surprised, Joe. That's pretty stand up of you," Hoagie gaped. Joe shrugged, shoved his hands in his pockets and narrowed his eyes on the other boy.

"So you'll help me out?"

"Help _what_?" Hoagie pressed, "You still haven't told me what I'll be doing. I mean, you said 'security' but what'll I be securing? Beatles from Ernie? I know Ernie's an imposing guy, but I think Beatles can take him."

Hoagie said the last part with a bit more spite than he intended. It seemed everyone except Hoagie could put Ernie in his place.

"I need you for security, yes, but to be more precise, I need your tech-savvy," Joe explained, "I know you've got some high-grade surveillance equipment and I'm willing to bet you've still got that old police scanner, too."

Hoagie darted a look to Mr. Washer, still busy obsessively cleaning the front counter, then cleared his throat and gave a curt nod of his head.

"Sure. I've still got it," he murmured, "You want me on cop patrol then."

"Amongst other things," Joe confirmed.

Hoagie weighed his options. At worst, he'd be aiding and abetting the delinquency of minors. At best, he'd screw over the plans of a bully who'd been tormenting his younger brother and make out with sixty bucks in the process.

Another feeling tugged at Hoagie. The only high school parties he'd gone to involved LAN and there had only been one female present, Arthur's mom. And while she made killer snacks and he knew all the right moves to wow the guests, it would be awesome to attend a real party; with booze, and girls, and music, and girls. Sure, he'd be working, but he'd be working at one of the hottest spots of the night.

Hoagie scowled, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"If I rig the place with my security stuff then can I..." He hated himself for the question he was about to ask, "...can I stay for the party?"

Joe barked out a laugh and Hoagie grimaced. God, he was lame.

"Of course, Gilligan! Was that all? Shoot, I'll pour ya' your first beer myself," Joe chuckled, slapping Hoagie's shoulder good-naturedly, and nearly knocking the scrawny teen to the ground, "We got a deal then?"

Hoagie rubbed his shoulder and grumbled, "Yeah. Sure. We got a deal."

"Swell. I'll bring your first cut of the moolah to school tomorrow and I'll work out the details with Beatles," Joe said, "Meet me at the market Saturday morning. We'll ride to Beatles' place together."

Before leaving, Joe grabbed one of the kites, a diamond bearing the image of a red Rainbow Monkey, and brought it to the front counter, paying in cash. He said a good-bye to Hoagie and left.

"Nice young man," Mr. Washer commented. Hoagie said nothing. "Friend of yours?"

"Once," Hoagie muttered, "In another life."

Mr. Washer swatted the boy upside his head.

"Ow! Hey! What was that for?"

"You're too young to talk like that. Now go hang these fliers up," Mr. Washer commanded, pulling the package of fliers from its place behind the counter and dumping it into Hoagie's arms.

-1-2-3-4-5-

Abby hurried from Willem High, checking her watch with an errant click of her tongue.

Two hours.

Two hours she spent talking to her staff. Two hours of listening to them pitch self-promoting article ideas, of her handing out assignments, listening to their complaints, re-handing out new assignments, listening to more complaints before finally telling them to all can it, write the articles assigned them or get the hell out of her journalism room.

Before, she hadn't been aware it only took two hours to alienate an entire room of ambitious journalists. She considered calling her predecessor, Chad Dickson, for advice but thought better of it. After all, she was Abigail Lincoln, she could handle it.

Two hours. She snorted softly. Those were two hours she could have spent doing something useful, like investigating a possible infestation of highly toxic insects that were turning children into pod people.

Abigail slid into her car, one of the few vehicles still parked out front Willem High and started up the engine. Out of her tote bag, she pulled a sealed, unmarked, manilla envelope. Special delivery from Anna Worthington between her last two classes. She opened the envelope and slid out its contents.

On the top of the stack of white copier paper was an unsigned, typed note from Anna. It read: _This is the last time, Lincoln. I expect your end of the bargain by lunch tomorrow_.

Abigail smirked. Anna was not going to have a good day after lunch tomorrow. She turned the letter over and looked over the rest of the papers; photocopies of Whistler Fünfundzwanzig and Mackerel Herring's permanent records. She made a face, hefting the stack of papers in her hand appraisingly.

"Strange," she remarked. It felt a bit light.

Whistler was still fairly new, it was possible the office hadn't yet received some of his paperwork. She flipped through the papers a couples times and realized his medical records were missing. Mackerel, on the other hand, was not a transfer but had been enrolled in the high school since freshman year. Yet, it looked as though his medical records were missing as well.

It was kind of hard to stay in school without a proper medical history.

Abigail tucked the papers back into the envelope deciding to read over them later that night when she arrived home. She dug out her notebook and stared at the address she'd written down that morning. Again, she found herself in a dilemma. Her father had forbade her from investigating the 'bugs' that had already hospitalized two children and she wanted to listen to his warning, she really did, but there was this nagging voice in the back of her mind.

She turned on her GPS and punched in the first address. Her father would understand that her heart had been in the right place, wouldn't he?

The address wasn't too far from school. She could pop by the childrens' houses, snoop around the area, maybe ask some questions of their parents and neighbors, then be home in time for Moo Goo Gai Pan and a date with Humphrey Bogart. She pulled out of the school parking lot and followed the directions dictated to her by a woman's computerized voice.

After a short drive, Abigail turned onto the street where both houses were located. Her heart gave an odd thud. She had never heard of the street before, couldn't recall ever having been there, but for some reason the area felt familiar. She parked her car and stepped out, taking in her surroundings.

It was a typical suburban neighborhood lined with cute cookie-cutter houses. Sort of like her own neighborhood, she thought. She assured herself that that was the reason for her feelings of deja vu.

Abby furrowed her brow, her finely honed reporter senses were tingling. It was a quarter past four in a suburban setting, the streets should have been littered with children. There was not a child in sight. In fact, the only living souls on the street were her and...she narrowed her eyes.

A few houses down, two older men were lounging on lawn chairs next to one another sipping from tall glasses of lemonade with bended straws. One of the men had a gigantic head of thick, matted brown hair and – horns? - poked out of it on either side. Abby wondered if maybe these men had a habit of sitting outside and, more importantly, maybe they had seen something. She shouldered her tote bag and began towards them.

The closer she drew, the stranger they looked, sitting side-by-side simultaneously sipping their beverages. The other man, she found, had blond hair and a mustache, he was balding on top and had long buckteeth – tusks? - protruding from his mouth. His fingers, she noted, were ridiculously long. They watched her approach and when she stopped in front of them they stared unblinking, continuing to sip.

"Good evening," Abby greeted. Neither said a word. She cleared her throat, glanced around for other signs of life and, finding none, continued to say, "I'm Abigail Lincoln, a reporter for...ahem..." she made a few incoherent noises between coughs and finished with, "...Times. I'm writing a story about the recent hospitalizations of a couple kids in this area. You wouldn't happen to know anything about it...would you?"

The men finally stopped sipping their drinks.

"I've heard nothing about it," the blond haired man droned in an oddly monotone voice, "Have you heard anything about it, Mr. Fibb?"

"No. Can't say that I have, Mr. Wink," replied the brown-haired man in the same eerie monotone. Abigail forced a polite smile.

"Well...thanks anyway..." she started to back up slowly when she heard a shout from down the street. Her head whipped round towards the direction the noise had come.

From around the corner, a lanky teenager wearing a brown cap, loose jeans, and t-shirt raced into sight. He looked soaked to the bone. He held a pump action water gun, spinning round to fire at an on-coming group of...children? Each had a water gun of their own and were firing his direction.

Abigail's expression scrunched with confusion.

"Junior...?"

Hoagie spun round to run again, a grin on his face, when he caught sight of Abigail and froze. His smile quickly fell. It took the children a moment to catch on, continuing to spray him for a few seconds before lowering their own weapons.

"What's wrong, Hoagie?" one of the children, a boy of about six or seven who spoke with a pronounced lisp, asked. The other children had already followed Hoagie's direction of stare and were gaping at the unfamiliar young woman down the street.

Abby forced another smile and, tightening a hand around her tote bag strap, strutted towards the drenched teenager.

"Junior, junior, junior...are you getting whooped by a pack of first graders?" she teased.

"Abigail," Hoagie quietly greeted between clenched teeth. He looked a bit defeated, his expression somewhat...vulnerable...and Abby felt a warmth crawl across her face before hastily dismissing it, "What are you doing here?"

"I was going to ask you the same question," Abby replied, gesturing at the children and quipping, "Friends of yours?"

One of the children, an adorable girl with her hair in pigtails, darted shyly behind Hoagie. She gripped his pant leg and peeked out at Abby. The other children, the boy with a lisp, and another boy with a face full of freckles, took up positions at Hoagie's side. They watched the two teenagers' exchange with interest.

"Friends...yeah...sort of..." Hoagie murmured sheepishly, "I...uh...babysit. This is Dylan," he brushed a hand softly across the boy with a lisp's head, "Otis," the freckle-faced boy, "And Libby," the girl hiding behind Hoagie. Hoagie shrugged, eyes studying the ground, he offered as a sort of explanation, "I agreed to play with them if they helped me hang fliers for work."

"Hoagie, who's she?" Dylan finally demanded, jerking his water gun Abby's direction. Abby struggled to hide her smile at the young boy's bravado.

"Um...she's uh..."

"I go to school with Junior here," Abby said, jerking a thumb at Hoagie. She leaned down to eye-level with the small boy, smiled brightly, and said in her cheeriest voice, "My name's Abigail. It's nice to meet you, Dylan."

The children eyed her skeptically.

"It's _Captain_ Dylan, actually," the boy corrected her snidely. He tugged the hem of Hoagie's shirt and, peering eagerly up at the older boy, whispered pleadingly, "Tell her, Hoagie."

Hoagie fidgeted, obviously uncomfortable. Abby smirked at him, folding her arms over her chest. She couldn't help it, she liked watching the boy squirm.

"Yeah...uh...Captain Dylan...First Lieutenant Libby...and Second Lieutenant Otis."

"Libby's first because ladies always go first," Otis provided, as though reciting the line from memory.

"Those are our titles. Hoagie gave them to us. You have to call us by our full titles," Dylan firmly informed Abby. She blinked at him.

"Uh...sure thing, Cap," Abby replied. The boy stamped his foot angrily.

"She's not doing it right, Hoagie," he moaned.

Hoagie put a hand on top of Dylan's head to quiet the boy and said, "It's alright, she doesn't have to play the game."

Abby rolled her eyes, feeling her earlier annoyance at Hoagie rush back to her. That morning he couldn't say a single kind word to Whistler but here he was being sweet and understanding of a loud-mouthed brat.

"It figures, Junior, that the kids _you_ baby-sit would be just as difficult as you are," she muttered.

"Hey, now, that's not-" Hoagie started.

When Libby shouted angrily, "Shut up! Hoagie's the best!" Then ducked once again behind the older boy.

Suddenly, Abby felt torn. She wanted to be mad at Hoagie, for that morning with Whistler, for this unexpected encounter and assault on her presence but it was kind of hard when a pack of seven year old kids were defending him as he stood silently by wearing a sheepish, apologetic expression.

And then, Abby was blasted with a stream of water.

"Otis!" Hoagie cried, pushing said boy's water gun aside and cutting short his attack on Abigail.

She stared at the now drenched front of her shirt in surprise. Dylan and Libby were muffling snickers.

"What did I tell you about shooting people?" Hoagie chastised his young charge.

"Only when their armed..." Otis answered unhappily, staring shame-faced at his gun. Hoagie looked flabbergasted from Abby back to the young boy, burying his face in his palm.

"No...that's not-"

"That's right," Abby interrupted, and all eyes turned on her, "You should never fire on an unarmed person." She dropped her tote bag from her shoulder, it hit the ground with a THUNK, and she grinned impishly at the children, "So _arm_ me."

Hoagie looked blank but smiles passed along the childrens' faces.

Otis lived closest and he had an extra water gun, which he filled and handed over. Abby tested its heft, and, staring down the barrel, assessed its aim. She hadn't fired a water gun in ages. She pumped it a few times.

"Uh...Abby..." Hoagie started carefully, "Are you sure...?"

Abby fixed him with a hard look. In her eye was a determined glint, her lip curled up in a lighthearted sneer.

"Let's do this," she declared, then promptly sprayed Hoagie in the chest. The children and Hoagie scattered, Abby chasing after.

For the next hour or so, Abby forgot why she had come to that street in the first place as she laughed and raced carelessly through the neighborhood with Hoagie and the three children.

There were no teams, it was everyone for themselves. Sometimes Hoagie would lead the children against Abby, sometimes Abby would lead them against him, sometimes the children would gang up on both teenagers, sometimes it was girls against boys, and sometimes they caught each other in a free-for-all, shooting haphazardly at anyone and everyone in sight.

The only breaks would be when their guns ran out and they hastened to refill before the others to have a head start on the next watery barrage.

Only when the sky had turned a fiery orange, and everyone was thoroughly soaked and exhausted, did their game finally end. They collapsed on the front lawn of Otis's house, water guns carelessly discarded to the side.

Abigail sat, staring across the street, deep in thought. In her lap, Libby had happily plopped herself. Abby draped her arms over the little girl's shoulders. Her eyes wandered aimlessly to Hoagie. Dylan and Otis, still energetic, were attempting to, and seemingly succeeding at, wrestling the older boy to the ground. She couldn't help smiling at the scene, he really was a pushover.

"Hoagie's the best, huh...?" Abigail murmured thoughtfully, repeating Libby's defensive cry from before and the little girl made a noise of approval. Abby gently brushed the little girl's damp hair from her face and commented, "You really like Hoagie, don't you?"

Libby nodded enthusiastically, "He's my favoritist...and then its my cousin second..." She put a finger to her chin and hummed thoughtfully a moment, then added, "And now you're my third favorite."

Abby smiled, giving the girl a slight squeeze.

"Glad I made the list," she whispered candidly, then grinning, "First Lieutenant Libby."

At that moment, Hoagie staggered over, glasses in hand, and shook his head as he futilely attempted to brush away the grass stubbornly stuck to his pants. He plopped down Indian-style by the girls and glanced at them, then turned his focus to another futile effort, cleaning the lenses of his glasses, still dotted with water droplets.

"Oh wow," Abby gasped, then flushed and looked away.

"What?" Hoagie darted his head around, confusion across his face. Abby shook her head.

"Nothing. It's...nothing. Your eyes are just...really blue," she mumbled. Briefly she wondered if she were coming down with a fever, because she suddenly felt very hot.

"What?" Hoagie repeated, then his brow drew together and he refocused on his lenses, "Oh. I guess you've never seen me without the glasses before."

"Yeah. Never," Abby confirmed. Libby pulled herself from Abby's grasp and went to join the little boys, who were still wrestling. Without the little girl between her and Hoagie, Abby felt exposed.

"Its what I get for being German and Polish. Well that, and an inability to tan," Hoagie muttered, in regards to his eyes. He shrugged, because it was something to do with himself. A deafening silence fell between them.

Abby rubbed her arms furiously, shivering suddenly. Hoagie slid his glasses back on, still streaked with water but he resigned himself to the fact that they were as good as he could get them. He pulled his knees up and rested his arms across them, then fidgeted with his pant leg. Abby cleared her throat but remained silent.

"About this morning...what I said..." Hoagie spoke up. Abby flustered. She looked away and bit her inner cheek.

"I don't really remember," she lied.

Hoagie closed his mouth and nodded as though it were to be expected. "Oh. Okay."

Again, silence.

Abby hated this feeling, sitting in her stomach like a rock. Uncertainty. No one ever made her feel as uncertain as this guy. Words, there had to be words...something she could say. A witty remark? Or a question. Questions...she was good at questions. She glanced around, looked at the children playing at the edge of the lawn. Captain Dylan and his first and second lieutenants.

"So...what's with the titles?" she asked. Hoagie startled from whatever musings he had been lost in and stared at her blankly a moment. She gestured to the kids with a nod of her head and his eyes lit in realization.

"Oh. Titles. Right," he dropped his face again and answered, "It's just a game." He sighed and went on to explain, "I babysat Dylan first and we played..." he cleared his throat and sheepishly admitted, "_Doctor Time Space in the Continuum_. I made him captain of the ship. I guess I did a good job watching him, his parents recommended me to Libby's and Otis's, and they wanted to play too, but I couldn't make them captains because Dylan was already captain so..." he trailed off, letting Abby figure the rest out.

"They really look up to you," she commented. Hoagie shrugged again, picking a few blades of grass.

"Yeah...I'm good with kids," he mumbled, "Got to be good at something, huh?"

Abby thought to say something about his self-deprecation but out of nowhere, Dylan, Otis , and Libby sprung a surprise attack, lunging at Hoagie and tackling him to the ground. He cried out in surprise. Abby fell back, bursting into laughter, as she watched him struggle against the onslaught.

Who knew, she mused, that the self proclaimed king of nerds was actually...the king of kids?

The three children took off running down the street, leaving Hoagie sprawled flat across the lawn.

"Hey, get back here," he shouted, then rolling his head to glare at Abby, he demanded, "You think this is funny?"

She slapped a hand over her grin and shook her head emphatically, then burst into laughter again. He struggled into a somewhat sitting position and fixed her with a mock glare.

"I'll show you funny," he threatened.

Abigail jumped to her feet when he lunged at her, only having a moment to be embarrassed by the surprised squeak that escaped her throat, as he pulled himself up and made an easily dodged attempt to grab at her. She couldn't stop laughing. He smirked slyly at her, reaching for one of the water guns on the lawn. Through her mirth, she managed a serious expression.

"Now, junior," Abby tried to reason, "Think about what you're doing...I am a well-trained martial art-eek!" She barely jumped out of the way of the water stream. Okay, that was it. She stated firmly, "I _will_ kick your ass, boy."

A scream cut through the evening air.

"Libby."

Hoagie dropped the water gun and took off running for the children. Abigail followed quickly behind. A couple houses down, Libby was slumped on the ground, holding her arm away from herself, tears of panic streaming down her cheeks. Hoagie fell to his knees beside her, concern etched in his features.

"Get it off, get it off," Libby screamed, holding her arm out and waving it somewhat.

Hoagie grabbed the appendage, saying, "It's okay, sweetheart, its just a..." he faltered, gaping at the strange glimmering glop inching its way up her forearm, "What the heck is that thing?"

"Get it off her," Abby hissed, desperation edging her tone, but Hoagie had already pinched the oily-looking slug and peeled it away. Abby swiveled her head around, and felt her heart sink, "Where's Dylan and Otis?"

Libby had already buried herself in Hoagie's chest. Hoagie held the slug between his thumb and index finger away from himself, staring at it with a disgusted face.

"Hold onto that thing," Abby told him insistently, "Don't lose it. I'm going to look for Dylan and Otis."

Hoagie nodded, distractedly saying, "Check the backyard, this is Dylan's house."

Abby sprinted round the side of the house. The gate to the backyard was open. Her heart pounded erratically against her chest. Her throat felt blocked. She felt like her body was moving too slow. Her legs were cement cinders. Her father's words echoed back to her.

_Won't say anything unless you ask them a question..._

She thought of Dylan's snappish commands and Otis carefully reciting the things Hoagie had told him as though treasured pearls of wisdom.

_Won't move unless you tell them to do something..._

She pictured the two boys running excitedly through the street, wrestling Hoagie, jumping him mid-conversation.

_Like they don't have minds of their own..._

Abby burst frantically into the backyard.

"Dylan! Otis!" she cried.

"What?" Dylan replied haughtily from the far corner of the backyard. Otis stood beside him, curiously peering at the older girl.

Abby nearly collapsed with relief. She clutched her chest with both hands, one on top of the other, and blinked away tears that had formed unbidden in her eyes. They were okay, they were both okay. She took a few deep breaths and wiped the back of her hand across her face.

"You boys..." she whispered, then questioned a bit louder, "Didn't you hear Libby scream?"

"Yeah," Dylan replied, "But then we saw this."

For the first time, Abby noticed the two boys were hunched over something. She furrowed her brow quizzically and slowly made her way over. She stopped dead in her tracks.

Burrowed into the corner of the fence and down underneath it, was what appeared to be a nest of some sort. The entrance was roughly five inches around, slick with silvery tendrils of snot-like slime. Scattered around the burrow, embedded in the slime, were translucent casings that looked similar in appearance to ping-pong balls that had been split open and broken apart. Just along the outer opening, there were twenty or thirty of these ping-pong ball casings but there were probably more deeper inside.

Abby touched a hand to her mouth.

If this hole was what she thought it was, then her father's prediction of there being a lot more injured children, may prove true. She didn't like that prospect.

There was a sound of approaching footsteps, and she turned around. Hoagie, with Libby attached to his side, face buried against him, appeared. He had managed to find a glass jar somewhere and he now had the 'slug' trapped inside.

He walked over to where Abby and the two boys stood and frowned at the burrow in the corner of the fence.

"What is that?" he demanded. He shook the jar a little, disturbing the creature inside and causing it to shiver, "And what is this?" He fixed a glare on Abby, shoving the jar at her, "And _why_ are _you_ here? In this neighborhood?"

Abby took the jar from Hoagie, clutching it against her breast. She looked at him, her expression somber. Hoagie seemed to easily read the message she was silently sending his way.

"Kids. It's time you guys went home," he announced decisively.

"I _am_ home."

"Dylan," Hoagie growled threateningly. The little boy yelped.

"Okay, I'm going, I'm going..."

The children begrudgingly said good-byes to Abby and Hoagie, then split for their respective houses. Abby exited the backyard, Hoagie falling in step a few paces behind her. They took seats on the sidewalk curb and Abby placed the jar between them.

"I didn't bring this thing here, if that's what your thinking," Abby finally said. Hoagie leaned back.

"I wasn't," he told her, "But you know something about it."

She nodded.

"Two kids on this street," she mumbled, "They were taken to the hospital where my dad works."

"Kenny and Marla," Hoagie acknowledged. She quirked her head at him.

"More kids you baby-sit?"

He shrugged, glaring across the street. Abby folded her arms and leaned forward, resting them across her knees.

"Yeah, well, my dad gave me the 411 on their conditions, including, the possible cause."

Hoagie picked the jar off the ground, tipped it to the side and stared at the thing inside. It huddled in the center of the jar, shuddering and shivering.

"He said the boy, Kenny, had a bug attached to him but before anyone could get a good look at it, his mom squashed it." Abby sniffed lightly, goosebumps prickling her skin. As the sun inched its way westward the air chilled, "I figured I'd come here, do some investigating, and if I were lucky I'd find another one."

"Guess you were lucky," Hoagie grumbled, putting the jar down again, "Your dad told you all of this? Isn't that, like, against patient confidentiality or something?"

Abby rolled her eyes.

"He didn't tell me _all _of it. He didn't mention their names or their addresses, so it wasn't breaking confidentiality laws. I just..." she ducked her head and sheepishly admitted, "...procured that information myself later."

Hoagie said nothing but she could take a few unkind guesses as to what thoughts were tumbling round in that nerd-sized brain of his. She rested her forehead against her arms, staring angrily at the gutter under her feet.

"That thing in the captain's backyard," Abby murmured, "It looked like a nest, didn't it?"

"I'm no bug expert, but yeah." Hoagie shifted and Abby could hear the rustle of his fabric. He was sitting close, she could feel the warmth radiating off his slender body. "What is their condition? Kenny and Marla? All I know is they went to the hospital, no clue why or what's wrong with them. I figured they had some sort of bug but..." He pushed the jar and it scraped across the pavement, "Not literally."

Abby smirked at the stupid pun, then frowned again.

"I'm not sure what their condition is right now, but this morning my pops said they were acting real strange, couldn't think for themselves at all. He said, it was like their brains were fried," she turned her face to look at Hoagie. He was focused on a house down the street. She suspected it belonged to one of the hospitalized children, "My daddy...my dad, was worried. He never worries, not like this."

"Well, you caught one," Hoagie stated, smiling down at Abby encouragingly. It made her heart do a little flip-flop. "Mechaieh, this is a good thing, right? They can probably dissect this one now, figure out how it works and what it did to those kids and maybe even find a way to fix them."

"I don't think its that simple, junior," she whispered response, "But thanks for saying it."

They fell silent again but it felt more comfortable now. Abby thought about the way her day had turned out. After their fight that morning, sitting on a curb next to Hoagie, drying out from a fun evening of water gun fighting, was the last place she would have expected to end up. Furthermore, considering the way their encounters usually went, enjoying an evening of water gun fighting with Hoagie did not seem like a possibility, and yet, here they were.

She thought to mention it.

"You...met Nigel."

Abigail startled. Okay, this was the second time that day she was asked about meeting Nigel Uno. Why the heck was everyone so interested?

Her heart cinched and her eyes darted up. She caught her breath.

This street.

Unhesitatingly, she zeroed in on one house in particular just a little ways down and across the street. It looked like every other house in the area, white with a red roof, but something made it different. Something set it apart from the others.

"Uh...Abigail...?"

There, jutting into the sky from out of the house, something so clear in her mind. It was there, she knew it in her heart, but, for whatever reason, her eyes refused to see it.

"...what is this thing doing?"

Abigail tore her eyes away and looked to Hoagie curiously. He'd picked the jar off the ground and was staring at the slug inside. Abby narrowed her eyes at it, leaning forward to peer in as well.

The slug was still shuddering, but its palpitations had become severe. Hoagie struggled to hold the jar in his hand.

"It's warm," he told her and Abby touched a hand to the jar, only to jerk back.

"Warm? It's burning up," she gasped.

Hoagie put the jar back down for fear of dropping it. The vibrations caused the jar to dance along the pavement. He and Abigail lowered themselves so that they could watch the slug with wide-eyes.

Its vibrations were just beginning to get violent, the teens thinking it would cause the jar to shatter, when suddenly...POP!

The teens flinched away. Purple goop coated the inside of the jar.

"Oh, gross," Hoagie groaned. Abby scowled.

"What the _hell_?" she demanded of the jar, furious, "What kind of bug self-destructs when captured?"

"Double-O Slug?" Hoagie suggested. Abby glared at him, unamused.

-5-4-3-2-1-

Three figures slipped into the mansion down the lane. They moved as one up the stairs, down the hall, and paused at the gigantic red door. Then, as one, they knocked.

"Come in."

The door opened and they entered.

"We're home, Father," the three said as one to the back of the large swivel chair behind a wide oak desk.

"And how was school, my _delightful_ children?"

"Um..." the three exchanged looks.

The chair spun round and the man sitting in it, his entire form cloaked in thick black, fixed them with a heated stare.

"We had an encounter," they explained, swallowing hard, "With Wallabee Beatles."

The man leaned back in his chair. He touched his fingertips together in front of him and eyed the three disinterestedly.

"Who?"

Again, the three exchanged looks, "Numbuh_ 4_."

His brow raised ever so slightly, but he maintained his calm demeanor.

"And?"

"He asked about..." they shuffled nervously, their faces blanched, drops of sweat trickling down pale complexions, "...our sister."

"WHAT?" the man roared, fire leaping off his body, washing the already sweltering room with an unbearable heat.

The teens stumbled back from the sheer force of his explosion.

He leaned forward on his desk, the wood sizzling under his touch and demanded, "And what did you tell him when he asked?"

"Nothing, Father," the three eagerly answered, "Nothing at all. Beatles has..." they searched for the right wording, "...a delicate mental state. We led him to believe she was a figment of his imagination."

The man fell heavily back into his chair, appeased by their response. He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Good...good...Delivery day is fast approaching and I can't have any of _those_ pesky former Kids Next Door throwing wrenches in my plans," he muttered, then more to himself he mused, "If those five...it would ruin everything..."

The three glanced amongst one another, their faces still awash with anxiety.

"Uh...Father...?" they started. He looked up at them as though surprised they were still there.

"Speaking of your siblings," he said and their faces paled all the more, "It's feeding time."

They sighed, "Yes, Father."

He dismissed the three with a wave of his hand.

The three made their way down the stairs, through another hall, to another door, leading to more and more and more stairs.

The man leaned back in his chair, tilted his head to gaze at the ceiling. A cruel smile played on his lips. Wild fire danced in his eyes.

At the lowest level of the house, the three entered a cold, dank room. It was bare, save for the large cage in its center.

"Soon..." the man preened, "Soon...all my dreams will come true."

* * *

AH! That whole scene between Abby and Hoagie is one I have had in my mind since, basically, chapter one. I was so worried I wouldn't be able to pull it off, wouldn't be able to fit all the little details (such as, "you're eyes are really blue") into the actual write-up of the scene, and I did and it was just...ahhhhh! I'm so happy i could dance for joy. And I will, in a moment. Also, the three kids are kind of unimportant, I don't even know if they'll reappear in the story, though they might be mentioned again.

Hm...the plot thickens. Father, mysterious people chatting on the bus (betcha they're not who you think...or maybe they are), and the slugs.

Give me your opinion, I desperately need it! Ack...thanks for stopping by, I'll see you next time, same Fanfiction site, same Fanfiction fandom. :)


	17. Chapter 16

A/N: Yay! And I'm back (slightly) a day early! By like...ten minutes. Finals are over! Yay! A thanks to all you well wishers. I have no more classes and relatively few distractions on this story now, so I'm focused on the finish line...though it still seems quite a distance away (probably because it is).

Okay, well, funny thing about this chapter and an apology. It kind of got ridiculously long. I swear, I didn't mean for it to happen. I wrote it, and then I went to check how many pages it was (by pasting it from the full story to its own doc) and I'm sitting there thinking "Eh, it's only like fourteen pages..." Heh..heh..he...yeah...more like, *twenty* four pages. And this stunning example of my math skills is probably why I mot likely failed my Chem exam.

Anyhoo, I'm very nervous abut this chapter,...so read it gently, please.

On a final note: WOOHOOO, I BROKE 200 REVIEWS! Thanks for bearing with me guys, now grab onto your seat and enjoy the ride!

* * *

Chapter 16:

The sun was just beginning to rise when Cree reached that pale yellow house. It had been a two hour drive, not the best thing for her 1968 black Pontiac Firebird, and she was cranky from having to wake so early in the morning. But this was business, after all. So she checked her make-up in the mirror, fluffed her hair, and exited the convertible.

After the second knock, the white painted door swung open and crystalline blue eyes met intense gold-flecked amber.

"Oh shi – "

Before the door could swing shut once more, Cree's booted foot kicked forward flinging it back with a loud crack. She rushed in as the blond young man bolted up the stairs. Rolling her eyes, she activated her Battle Ready Armor, the samurai style black and crimson metal suit wrapping about her and in three leaps was at the top of the stairs glaring down at him.

Switching gears, the boy propelled himself forward, toppling the young woman. They tumbled across the floor. He attempted to pin her but she twisted herself so that her feet connected to his abdomen and with one great thrust he slammed into the back wall. He stumbled for a moment, recovering in time to block a roundhouse, a forward jab, dodging an upper cut, and flipping over a floor sweep.

He sent his own fists flying, all of which she sidestepped with ease, her own cross-punch grazing his jaw. As he was distracted by another jab, her knee sank into his stomach, followed by an elbow to his back. He doubled over in pain.

Balanced on the ground, he knew he was done for, as her steel toe slammed into his chest, tossing him on his back, her booted foot crushing against his neck.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," Cree clucked breathlessly, "Did you really think you could run from me, Dickson?"

Chad winced with pain, gasping for air and futilely struggling under the fierce young woman's weight.

"How did you find me, Cree?" he wheezed. A smirk tugged at his captor's lips.

"You don't have quite as many friends as you think," she sneered, "Where is it?"

Chad spat, "Go to hell."

"Wrong answer."

The steel toe connected with Chad's side and he writhed in pain for a moment before the boot was back under his chin.

"Now. _Where _is it?"

He coughed, sputtered, "Where you'll never find it."

Again, the steel bit into his already raw flesh.

"How long do you think you can keep this up?" Cree tersely demanded.

"How long do you plan on being Father's lapdog?" Chad barked retort then as she reeled back for another swift kick, he desperately added, "Think about it, Cree, when he's done with them who do you suppose is next?"

She raised a brow at that and though she let her foot drop harmlessly to the ground, she still trained the blond with a dangerous look.

"What makes you think I don't already have a plan for that?"

Chad took a few deep breaths, grimacing. He could already feel the bruises forming, plum blossoms across his ivory skin, "Plan? What could you possibly have planned? You've seen what he's capable of-"

"I can handle it. Now stop worrying about me and start worrying about yourself, Dickson. Where. Is. It."

"I'll never tell," Chad coughed out, "And there's nothing you can do – _nothing_ – to make me."

Cree smirked. A challenge, huh? She loved a good challenge.

"Nothing, Dickson? We'll see about that."

Cree closed the white door gently behind her as she exited the pale yellow house, her B.R.A. once again nothing more than an unassuming undergarment. She slipped back behind the wheel of her firebird and checked her make-up, smoothing a few out-of-place strands back down. She reapplied her lipstick. She felt oddly calm for someone whose best officer had stolen an important item from and gone rogue; threatening plans over three years in the making.

"I don't have it anymore," he had finally admitted, bloody and battered, "It's in neutral hands…stashed away in a location that I don't even know."

There were seven days until Delivery. Plenty of time. She just had to find this Moosk person.

Scowling, Cree began her drive back to school. Chad's last words, choked out at her retreating back, echoed throughout her mind.

_You play with fire, Cree, you're only gonna get burned._

-1-2-3-4-5-

Rachel was mildly surprised when Patton arrived that morning to pick her up for school. The day before, she'd opted for a ride home from Bartie and his maybe-girlfriend Virginia. They kindly left her alone about not riding with Patton, correctly assuming that the two were arguing about a touchy subject.

Rachel wanted to take Patton showing up as a sign he had forgiven her, but the awkward silence as they drove towards school proved otherwise. She searched for a way to break the ice.

"You watch the game last night?" she asked, though she knew the answer.

Patton briefly gripped his steering wheel tight enough to turn his knuckles white. Rachel cleared her throat and leaned back in the seat. Yup, that ice was frozen solid.

"Listen, I get that you're still mad about yesterday-"

"I'm not mad," Patton cut in, tersely. Rachel glanced at him, biting back a 'yeah right'. She could see the line of his jaw, clenched tight the way it always was when he was trying to fight the urge to verbally attack.

"You _should_ be mad," Rachel told him earnestly. She sighed and flipped her hair from her face, "You were right. I didn't know what I was talking about. You went the whole day without even giving Fanny a second look," she caught the way Patton flinched at the name, but continued unabated, "And there were plenty of opportunities for you to put her and Ricky in their place but you totally ignored it. I got to say, I'm impressed. I really thought that...but it doesn't matter. You were right, I was wrong. I'm sorry."

He said nothing.

"Augh!" Rachel cried, gripping Patton's shoulder and giving it a friendly shake, "Come on, talk to me! This is torture. You _know_ I miss your sultry baritone. I said I was sorry, what more do you want?"

Still nothing.

Rachel perched her chin on his shoulder and pouted up at him.

"Please forgive me," she whimpered. Patton rolled his eyes but relaxed a bit.

"I'm not mad," he repeated, and it sounded a little more convincing this time, "Just...would you forget about it...alright?"

Relief and excitement spilled over Rachel. She straightened and gave a mock salute, face humorously serious.

"Sir, yes, sir. Consider it over and forgotten, sir," she grinned. He shook his head at her, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"You are _so_ weird."

Rachel settled back into her seat, putting a foot up on the dashboard and smiling elated out the window, wind roughly tousling her hair.

"I missed you," she exclaimed, "It's just not the same without my General. Admit it, Drilovsky, you missed me too."

"No way," Patton teased, "It was great going a whole day without you nag, nag, nagging in my ear. Not to mention, the bossiness..."

Rachel pulled a face, flicking his ear, and demanded, "What was that?"

"Ow, hey! I'm driving here!"

"Oh crap, Patton, watch the road!"

The jeep swerved chaotically, nearly missing an icecream truck coming the opposite direction – horns blasting – before Patton eased it back under control. He shot a glare Rachel's direction.

"Dammit Cadet, are you trying to get us killed? Passenger rule number one: No attacking the driver!"

To her credit, Rachel looked sheepish. She half-joked, "I think this is a sign that we shouldn't fight."

"Shut up," Patton growled, reaching over to gently smack her head. She punched his arm in return, chuckling, then settled into her seat again.

It was nice to be back on good terms with Patton. Rachel really did hate when they fought. It made her nervous, as though they really were superior and officer and their argument was screwing up the cohesion of their unit, which, of course, could potentially compromise their overall mission. She smirked inwardly. Being a military brat really gave her odd ideas for metaphors.

They pulled into the school parking lot, already bustling with student life. Rachel sighed.

"Another day, another dollar," she commented wistfully.

"They don't pay us," Patton retorted. Rachel pulled a confused face.

"Really? Then why am I here?"

They clambered out of the jeep and headed towards the school entrance.

"I've got practice after school," Patton said, "You gonna be okay finding a ride?"

"Yeah, sure. I'm an independent woman, I can take care of myself," Rachel answered cheekily. A boy cut across her path and she stumbled back in surprise. Recovering quickly, she grabbed hold of the guy's sleeve, readying a lecture, and shouted, "Hey, watch where you're going, asshole!"

The boy turned a menacing glare on her, through shaggy blond she caught a glint of green.

"Who you calling an asshole, _asshole_?"

"Wally," Rachel stammered. She released the sleeve, flushing.

Wally turned slightly towards Rachel, regarding her a moment. He shoved his hands in his pockets and let hair fall into his face to perfectly mask his features.

"It's been awhile," Rachel admitted.

Her heart was a pounding a little too fast. Her head was spinning. She convinced herself it was from the way he'd rushed past her moments before and that she was still angry, and it would all almost seem true if not for the pesky fact that her heart always pounded and her head always spun whenever Wally Beatles was around.

Patton paused at the door, glancing curiously back at his friend's interaction.

"Yup," Wally replied, tense.

Well, jeez, he never changes, Rachel noted glumly, and the prize for most impenetrable emotional walls goes to...

"I heard a rumor you were back. Guess I didn't really believe it," Rachel confessed, crossing her arms.

Briefly, she wondered about her hair. It flashed into her mind for an instant. She'd been riding in the jeep, it was probably a disaster. Subconsciously, she ran her hand through the blonde tresses. Then she cursed, God, it really sucked being a girl, guys probably never worried about such trivial things.

Wally shrugged, "Don't blame ya'."

"I'll see you inside, Rach," Patton called impatiently from the door. Rachel tilted her head in a nod but didn't look to him, eyes fixed on the blond in front of her. She realized at some point she'd held onto her breath and let it out slowly.

"You look good," she noted.

It really wasn't true. Wally looked the same as ever. Well-built, but a bit gaunt with dark bags under his eyes. She swore the boy didn't believe in sleep, he ran on pure spite.

"Really? 'Cause _I'm_ still not."

Rachel felt a jolt electric shoot up her spine and scowled. Same old Wally, ruggedly handsome and irreverently dense. Oh, how she wished she could just give him one good right hook. She doubted she would be punished for it, the school would probably end up suspending him. Unfortunately, he was so stonewalled, she expected her hand would shatter against his face.

"You're _really_ gonna bring that up? It was a long time ago and I know I never should have said it, I said I was sorry, but you never let anything go, do you? Christ, it was stupid then and its stupid now," she snapped, then caught herself. Was he really smirking at her like that? She rolled her eyes, "You're such a jerk."

"First it's asshole, now its jerk...you really know how to make a guy feel welcomed back."

"Shut up," Rachel muttered peevishly, "I was actually worried about you, you know, when they dragged you out of here in handcuffs. I really thought you were going to jail."

"Rachel..." he groaned.

"Don't call me that."

"It's your name," he pointed out, tone slightly agitated.

"Well, I don't want _you_ saying my name," Rachel hissed.

She knew she was being irrationally stubborn but she couldn't help it. Instantly, she was transported back to _that _day, that moment, however many months ago it was. Standing underneath the bleachers, sunlight cutting across the scene. She in her cheerleading uniform glaring down at him as he chugged his beer and looked defiantly up at her. Their shouted words still clanged painfully in her ears.

_Heartless loser._

_Stuck up bitch._

"Right. Well this has been a load of fun," Wally spoke up, clearing his throat and glaring into the distance. Ever the stoic, "But I got other places to be, other people who'll want to get their jabs in before first bell."

Wally started to leave and the world fogged. Again, Rachel flashed back to that day, him walking away. He was always walking away. In her mind, her clearest image of him was of his back. It didn't seem right. Wasn't he the one always screwing up?

Rachel squeezed her eyes shut, debating internally, until – probably against her better judgment – she relented, "Wally, wait."

He paused, halfway inside, but didn't turn back around. Fellow students maneuvered around the two, some grumbled about their being in the way, but no one made a comment to them. It was one of the benefits of being a nuisance with one of the most feared hoodlums in school.

"Can we just...try this again?" Rachel pleaded. She chewed her bottom lip and confessed sheepishly, "I'm glad to see you."

Wally remained unmoved. His shoulders were rigid. His hands were fists in his pockets. She supposed he was having his own internal debate.

"I am," she insisted, "It really blew when you got kicked out of school. You were kind of the only interesting thing here." She shuffled her weight from one leg to the other and, in an attempt at easing the tension between them, joked, "And, you know, the number of hot guys with accents is limited enough in this place as it is."

Wally slumped slightly, head lowered and wagging side to side. Rachel couldn't tell if the motion was laughter or annoyance. He'd always been so hard to read.

"Man, how pathetic are we?" she grumbled, mock serious, "Getting angry with each other and no chance of making up with a make-out session later."

That got a rise.

Wally turned to her, saying with a shrug, "I wouldn't mind making-out."

"_No_," Rachel hastily replied, "Nice try, buddy, but _no_."

He smirked and she smiled in return.

"Why? It wasn't that bad before," he quietly commented.

Rachel felt her cheeks flood with warmth. Memories suddenly rushed back to her of skin against skin, slick with sweat, of carelessly discarded clothing and body bruising encounters, of lust like addiction and desire overload. Bad was a word that fit Wally in a lot of ways, but when it came to close personal relations of the intimate kind, it was several sizes too small.

"No. It really wasn't."

Rachel walked a few paces into the school, somewhat surprised, and slightly happy when Wally fell in step beside her.

"Was it horrible? Where they sent you?" she questioned. She knew he wouldn't answer honestly, and he definitely wouldn't give her any details. He never did. But she still felt like she had to try, as if there were some prize in getting infamous Wally Beatles to open up.

"Not really."

"So...are you maybe planning on staying out of trouble for a little while, keep your head down?"

It was kind of a painful thing to ask. It hurt always hoping for an answer Rachel knew Wally would never give, even despite the fact that, after the way they last parted and those many months of separation, the questions and answers shouldn't matter to her anymore.

Wally snorted softly, humorously. "Not really."

Rachel mentally ran down the list of things she could say; to chastise, reprimand, beg. She let them all slide in and out of her mind until there was nothing left.

"Don't worry about it," Wally muttered, "I hate your worrying. It's annoying."

Rachel startled slightly at his words. She flushed with anger and confusion. She didn't understand why it always had to be this way. Why he was so determined to be the big badass who didn't need anyone else.

"I'm not worried," she snapped, "Don't act like such a know-it-all punk kid." She stopped then, spun round, and jabbed him in the chest with her finger, "And if you don't want people to worry about you, stop being such an idiot."

Wally scowled at her, rubbing the spot where she'd struck him. As if it really hurt. As if anything Rachel ever did could really hurt him.

"You know, I really don't miss this," he informed her, steadily. The bastard never ran out of nerve.

"I'm just saying-"

"I know exactly what you're _just_ saying. Same thing you always say. I'm an idiot, a loser, a psychopath. Well, it doesn't matter, because I'm going to do whatever I want to do, sheila, and there's noth-"

"_Don't_ call me 'sheila'! You _know_ I hate when you call me 'sheila'."

Wally rolled his eyes. "I can't call you by your name, I can't call you sheila. What the bloody hell do you want me to call you? _Babe_?"

Rachel fumed. She folded her arms over her chest, tapped her foot. He was so frustrating. He never said the right thing. He was always off doing something stupid, causing some sort of ruckus, picking fights, breaking rules. He was rough around the edges, violent, never told her anything. What was it that she had seen in him again?

Besides the nice body, hot Australian accent, and devil-may-care attitude that drove her crazy with wanting him to care, if just for a second, if only a little teensy-weensy bit, about her.

Rachel faltered. She wasn't really that shallow, was she?

"Just forget it, alright," she muttered. She groaned inwardly and rubbed her face, trying to erase the frustration, "I know that things got crazy before. We said a lot of things we shouldn't have, a lot of things we didn't mean...but that's the past, ancient history. I still care about you, you know. God, I don't know why, but I do. I want us to be friends. We can manage that, can't we?"

Wally shrugged. He lowered his head, hair in his face, expression hidden. Rachel clenched her jaw. Him and his _fucking _walls.

"We used to have a lot of fun together. Remember?" Rachel persisted.

Wally had a great sense of humor. When he relaxed enough, he could tell jokes that had Rachel laughing for hours. He had an insatiable appetite for adventure. When he wanted to go out, to do something, it was never boring.

"I guess," Wally relented, "When you weren't driving me bonkers with all your romantic, girly crud-"

He was also the biggest idiot on the face of the planet.

"More like, when your mouth wasn't moving!"

"Really, 'cause I don't recall you having such a problem with my mouth moving when-"

"_Time_!" Rachel cried. She formed a "T" with her hands and shoved them at Wally.

He folded his hands behind his neck and kicked at the ground. Sometimes he looked like such a child. Innocent and unassuming. Maybe that was his real draw. His sweet appearance fooled nice unsuspecting girls like Rachel into believing they could tame the beast within.

Rachel buried her face in a palm, "You are such an asshole."

"You used that one already."

"I give up," she muttered. She looked up at him, took in his image for a moment, and shook her head, "I would like if we could be friends, but we really can't, can we? Maybe if you were a little more mature-"

"And you were a little less hot-headed?" he quietly suggested.

"But we can't," she growled. For a moment, she let a bit of sadness creep into her expression, "It's too bad," she cleared her throat and the sadness was replaced with determination, "I guess it is what it is. So...I'm glad you're back...um...try not to blow the school up when I'm in it. And, uh, take care of yourself." She looked up into his face, his expression unreadable as ever, and said hollowly, "Good bye, Wally."

With steely resolve and the cracking of her heart in her ear, Rachel spun on heel and started her dramatic departure down the hall.

"Hey, Rachel," Wally called after her. She paused, wiped at tears that weren't there but threatened to be.

"What?" she bit out, unable to face him. It really just figured that he would go and ruin her stoic exit after all the times she let him have his. Was there no end to his asshole-ish-ness?

"I'm having a party at my house this Saturday. You should come...bring whoever," he told her, casual and non-committal. Just like everything else about him.

Rachel let anger and disbelief wash over her in droves. It was so all-consuming she trembled from its urge to burst out.

"What the hell is that supposed to be? Some kind of peace offering?" she roared, turning to begin Rachel versus Wally, Round...She-Lost-Count, but he was already gone.

-5-4-3-2-1-

Bloody sheila.

Wally stalked down the hall. His eyes strayed along the ground. His hands were balled into fists and shoved into his pockets lest they do something violent.

Before, he could never figure what Rachel's problem was and it seemed he still couldn't. Maybe it was just her nature. After all, she was that special kind of good girl that could never let him forget how bad a guy he really was; asshole, jerk, _whatever_.

Still, it didn't make sense.

If that was the kind of person she saw him as – useless, good for nothing, waste of time and space – why did she have to turn around and spout off crud about 'still caring for him', and being 'glad he was back', and wanting to 'be friends'.

Wally growled inwardly. Damn confusing was what is was. If she didn't want to fool around with him than why bother? He reached his locker and promptly punched it.

Metal cracked and rattled from the impact of Wally's fist, it also left a little dent. What few students were in the area hurried in search of somewhere else to be.

Wally leaned his forehead against the cool blue metal. His brow furrowed and thoughts wandered. This day was already turning out to be a doozy. Sarcastically he wondered, what could possibly happen next.

Wally wasn't sure why he'd told Rachel to come to the party. She was walking away from him and out of his life, which was exactly where she ought to be but something made him call out to her. Maybe it was his own insufferable rage. He couldn't let her walk away with the last word. Or maybe, it was guilt, his way of making amends for...well...everything.

After all, it was Wally's fault that anything had ever happened between them in the first place. If he had just stuck to his policy: 'No cheerleaders', everything would have been fine.

Of course, his luck probably didn't help the situation either. He'd been drunk, lonely, in the mood – though that one doesn't really count, he is male after all and always prone to being 'in the mood', a problem usually exacerbated by intoxication – and, lo and behold, Rachel was the only attractive girl at the party.

Wally worked the combination of his locker. He flung the door open and smirked unhappily at its sparse contents. People unaware of Wally's mood were returning to the hall, shuffling around him, chatting, laughing, digging in their lockers and giving him an all around headache.

Speaking of headaches. If Wally remembered correctly, Rachel had been a 'Whiskey Mistake'. Whiskey Mistakes were always the prettiest. Brandy Mistakes were usually emotional the next morning. Rum Mistakes were typically crazy – emphasis on _ca-razy_. And Tequila Mistakes were best forgotten.

Ah, Tequila. Wally missed Tequila.

Of course, Wally could be wrong. Rachel may have been a Whiskey Mistake with a shot of Brandy and a splash of Rum. He supposed the differences between them didn't really mean anything. No matter how unique the Mistake, they always had the same thing in common: her left hurt in the morning because of him.

Wally smirked sardonic. He would always be the bad guy.

The locker door clattered with weight and Wally startled from his musings on past regrets to fix a glare on the form that had slipped next to him. He really had to go ask a humorless cosmos 'what could possibly happen next'?

"Fulbrite," Wally seethed, "Go away."

"Oh, Wallabee, ever the charmer," Fanny returned cheerily, patting his cheek not-at-all kindly. Wally wondered, if he broke her arm could he claim self-defense? Nah, it wouldn't get rid of her anyway, she'd just start whining.

"Fine. I'll go," Wally spat. He went to close his locker, but Fanny was firmly planted across the door. "Move." She folded her arms over her chest and glared impudently up at him.

"I heard your parents are leaving town for the weekend. Lucky you."

Wally growled low in the back of his throat. It was more to let out some of his building frustration than an attempt at frightening Fanny, of course. His intimidation tactics had never worked on her. She was another 'bloody sheila' he couldn't figure out but in an entirely different way. The spitfire redhead had balls, that was for damn sure, and Wally could respect that if not for the fact she was so goddamned irritating.

"Yeah. What of it?"

"And you're having a party to celebrate the occasion. Very classy of you," Fanny went on. Wally felt a groan coming. "Put my name on the guest list with a plus two, please."

And there it was.

"What the bloody hell would ever make you think that I would put your name down for my party, Fulbrite? I wouldn't put you on the list even if you promised to dress like a gorilla and dance a jig while juggling bananas, you half-wit shiela."

Fanny nodded at each ranted word. Her lips were pulled in a knowing smirk. Wally knew that smirk. Years of dinner with the Fulbrites, his foolhardy father's attempts at sucking up to the boss-man, had taught him to hate that smirk.

"I had a feeling you might be difficult and I didn't want to have to resort to this but put me on the list," Fanny's eyes lit with a wild fire, "Or else."

Wally rolled his eyes. Learning to hate a smirk was about as far as he got from the lessons of his past mistakes.

"Or else what? You tell my folks? Got news for you, Fanny, I've been grounded since I crawled out of the womb. My folks don't scare me."

Fanny burst out with an exaggerated laugh, placing a hand at her breast and playfully swatting Wally's shoulder.

"Oh, Wallabee, Wallabee. What do you take me for? An amateur. Call your parents and tattle," Fanny continued to laugh. She shook her head at him as if to say: you _stu_pid boy.

"Right." Wally folded his arms and glared down his nose at her skeptically. "So then what do you plan to do?"

"Have you forgotten whose daughter I am?"

Wally furrowed his brow. He frowned in confusion.

"I know I ain't the sharpest bulb in the crayon box, Fanny, but ain't so stupid as to forget who your bloody parents are. You planning on coming to a point with this anytime soon?"

Fanny lowered her eyes and took a deep breath. Then she turned her face upward with the most pathetic, heartwrenchingly, realistic puppy dog pout Wally had ever seen.

"Daddy," Fanny simpered dramatically, stamping her foot for emphasis. Her tone was dead-on, a killer combination of distressed and petulant, the war cry of a spoiled brat. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill at any moment, "A boy at school, I think he's the son of one of your employees...Wally _Beatles_, he had a party this weekend and I...I..._was not invited_."

Fanny shook her head and, instantly, her pout disappeared. She took another deep breath and fanned her face with her hands to dry away the crocodile tears. She beamed up at a stunned Wally.

When he found his voice again, he asked, "And that will do...what?"

Fanny shrugged innocently.

"You know, I'm not too sure. But you could always ask Kenny Anders, he didn't invite me to his party either. Oh gosh darn it all!" Fanny snapped her fingers suddenly, "You can't do that. My daddy transferred Mr. Anders to...Russia or Alaska...you know, I can never remember where. It was someplace cold. You like the cold, don't you, Wally?"

The answer was: no. Wally most certainly did not like the cold, as Fanny was well aware.

Wally glared into his locker. Bloody -cruddy- bloody sheilas.

Then a thought occurred to Wally. He cleared his throat. Focused on a spot in the far corner of his locker.

"Er...your plus two..." Wally shifted uncomfortably. "One of them wouldn't happen to be..." He dropped his voice low, "Kuki Sanban?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. Kuki Sanban and Patty Juni. Do you have a probl-"

"Alright. Fine. I'll put you on the list."

Fanny blinked.

"Oh. That was easier than I thought it would be.." Fanny straightened and started away, patting Wally's shoulder in passing, "Losing a bit of our edge, are we, Wallabee? I'll see you Saturday then."

Fanny strutted away.

Wally closed his locker and leaned against it. He cursed himself. He shouldn't have done that. He really was the biggest idiot in the world. It was stupid, foolish, ignorant. He really should not have done that.

A girl like Kuki Sanban had no place anywhere near his party.

For a moment, Wally flashed on Rachel. He wondered what kind of mistake Kuki Sanban would be. His stomach flopped. He closed his eyes and balled his hands into fists. He felt sick.

Kuki Sanban would be the worst kind of mistake. She would be the kind that would hurt _him_ in the morning.

And somehow, Wally would still be the bad guy.

-1-2-3-4-5-

Joey lay on his belly in the bushes across from Willem High School. A twig poked the soft flesh of his underside but he ignored the pain. They were in enemy territory, this was no time to be a crybaby. He watched the front of the school and, the many students coming and going, through a Kids Next Door B.O.N.G.O.S.K.O.P.E.

Kalani sat next to Joey chewing a piece of licorice and sorting through her weaponry: twin G.U.M.Z.O.O.K.A.s, a pack of taffy traps, and her own personally designed J.A.W.-B.R.E.A.K.U.H., the "Jarringly Awesome Weapon Breaks Really Everything Around Kandy Ultimately Hurts" Jaw-Breaker cannon gun.

"I told you back at Lulu's that we won't need any of that," Joey steadily informed Kalani, "Our op specs from Moonbase are clear: gather info, do not initiate."

"It's better safe than sorry, Numbuh 25," Kalani replied tersely. She slung a fully stocked gumball belt across her chest and holstered her G.U.M.Z.O.O.K.A.S. "We have no idea what waits for us in there; how many teenagers, how many _Teen Ninjas_. We could be walking right into a trap and if we did things your way, we'd be unarmed."

"Not _completely_ unarmed..."

"Powerful a weapon as they may be, my _fists_ don't count."

Joey rolled his eyes and repositioned himself to get a better view of the school. The two-way radio on his belt went off and, through a great deal of static, a chipper voice could be heard.

"Numbuh 68 to Numbuh 25. Numbuh 68 to Numbuh 25."

Joey retrieved his radio and held it to his mouth.

"This is Numbuh 25, go ahead Numbuh 68."

"Target is on the move with same male teenager of unknown allegiance from the other day. Repeat, target is on the move."

"What's her E.T.A.?" Joey questioned.

"Um...uh...it's uh...her _what_?"

Kalani pulled a face and shook her head in annoyance. She began meticulously loading her J.A.W.-B.R.E.A.K.U.H., something about candy and weapons always seemed to soothe her.

"When will she reach the closet?" Joey rephrased impatiently.

"Oh! Okay...her E.A.T. is..."

"E._A.T._?" Kalani mouthed at Joey. Joey muffled a snicker.

"...is...uh...T-minus...er...very soon."

"Thanks Numbuh 68. We move on my mark."

"Sure thing, Numbuh 25," T.S. proudly replied.

Joey lifted himself slightly and hopped his feet underneath him so that he was squatting in the bushes. He tucked his B.O.N.G.O.S.K.O.P.E. into his bag, which was plopped on the ground beside him. Kalani propped her J.A.W.-B.R.E.A.K.U.H. on her shoulder and looked expectantly to her leader.

The radio went off again in another burst of static.

"Uh...Numbuh 25?"

Joey slumped his shoulders. He lifted the radio to his mouth.

"What is it Numbuh 68?"

"Um...I was wondering..."

"_Yes_, Numbuh 68?"

"After the mission is over..."

"Uh-huh?"

"Can we get ice-cream?"

"Give me that," Kalani growled, snatching the radio violently away from Joey and hissing, "Listen up, Numbuh 68, stay focused on the mission and, if you're very lucky and you don't screw up, when its over I won't _freeze you_ in a vat of ice cream."

"Numbuh 1959!" Joey gasped, wrestling his radio out of Kalani's grasp. He gave her a look of warning and, in a ginger voice, said into the radio, "Numbuh 68, I think right now you should concern yourself more with this mission and less with what will happen afterward, okay?"

"..."

Joey sighed. He could just picture the other boy in a fit of tears, hugging his stuffed rabbit and chewing on its ear.

"And...yes, we can go get ice cream after the mission," Joey relented. Kalani scowled over at him.

"Yay!" came the cheery response through crackling static.

Joey met Kalani's glare with a sheepish expression.

"Don't act like you don't want ice cream, too," he muttered. He lifted the radio up again and into it asked, "Numbuh 3.14159, are you ready with the modified F.I.N.D.I.T.?"

Louisa was on the roof of the highschool. She would be the team's eyes when they entered the building.

After a few seconds, the response came, "Yes, Numbuh 25. I've reprogrammed the F.I.N.D.I.T. to detect the unique teenage B.O. signature. I should know in a moment when our path is clear of threat."

"Good work, Lulu."

Kalani gave Joey a pointed look, her brow cocked, the corner of her lip curled into a smirk. Joey glanced confused at her.

"What?"

"Good work, Lulu," Kalani repeated mockingly. Joey's cheeks turned bright red. He lowered his face so that his blond bangs obscured his features.

"Well, it _was _good work," he grumbled, "We have to move quickly when we get in there, Numbuh 1959. Do you think you can keep up with all that crud you plan on hauling?"

Kalani hitched her J.A.W.-B.R.E.A.K.U.H. higher up on her shoulder easily, relaxing it in the crook of her arm, and glared down at Joey rather imposingly.

"You're the one who should worry about keeping up with me, what with those stubby little legs of yours."

"I'm just saying. If we get caught, and Sims figures out we're tailing her, it'll blow the whole mission. Then we'll be in cactus, Kalani."

Kalani perked a brow at that, "A cactus?"

The radio went off again and Louisa's voice came in through the static.

"Alright, Numbuh 25, you're clear to move. I'll alert you to any changes in teenager flow."

"Got it. Ready, Numbuh 68?"

"Ready, Numbuh 25."

Joey glanced at Kalani. Kalani gave him a short nod.

"Alright, in five...four...three...two...one! Move! Move! Move!"

Kalani and Joey sprinted across the parking lot, dodging between cars to keep out of sight of the teenagers heading into the high school. At every pause, Kalani would ready her J.A.W.-B.R.E.A.K.U.H. in preparation of an unexpected attack.

"Numbuh 25, when you get inside, take your first right: 200 halls. Numbuh 68, move straight down the 400s."

"I'm in," Numbuh 68 chirped. His entry point was a window into a storage closet. His route was the easiest and because he'd already spent time at the school, he had a good feel of the layout. Joey and Kalani, on the other hand, were taking the front entrance and would rely heavily on Louisa's directions.

Joey and Kalani, back-to-back, maneuvered swiftly up the stairs and burst through the high school's doors into a crowded hallway. Joey paled. He swallowed hard. There were teenagers everywhere. Mostly they were chatting amongst themselves, walking towards unknown destinations. Two were – Joey felt slightly nauseous – kissing and holding hands.

"Move, Numbuh 25, we don't have time to panic," Kalani whispered harshly to her leader. Joey didn't need to be told twice. They had to keep their pace slow but swift now or risk calling attention to themselves.

For the most part, the teenagers ignored them. Kids Next Door scientists called the strange phenomenon, where teenagers in large groups lacked interest in anything not having to do with celebrities, music, fashion, or the opposite gender, the "Hot or Not Effect". Joey hadn't believed it really happened before, and when Louisa suggested using it to their advantage when infiltrating the possible Teen Ninja entrance at the Janitor's Closet he'd all but laughed in her face, but now he was stunned. He made a mental note to apologize to Louisa later, preferably, when Kalani was far, far, _far_ away.

"Change of plans, Numbuh 25," Louisa's frantic cry came through the radio, "Hang a sharp left. There's no mistaking the B.O. drifting your way. You've got incoming football players, with a high probability of Teen Ninja affiliation."

Kalani and Joey ducked down the left hall. They both froze, a chill running up their spines. They found themselves in a part of the high school that seemed void of all life. Balled up bits of paper tumbled by. Their footsteps echoed eerily off the locker lined walls.

"Uh...where are we, Numbuh 3.14159?" Joey whispered into his radio.

"500s hall; according to my map...mathematics. Keep walking, there shouldn't be a huge teen presence there. Mostly nerds and geeks, easily evaded if you stay in their blind spots."

Their blind spots were the fields of their vision blocked by their thick glasses frames. It was useful information to keep in mind because teens of the Nerd and Geek classification rarely exhibited the 'Hot or Not Effect'.

"Got it Thanks."

Joey and Kalani pushed forward, senses on high alert.

"Watch yourselves, guys. Mathletes, twelve o'clock!"

Joey and Kalani pressed their backs against the wall of lockers. A pack of gawky teenagers passed them without a second glance, too engrossed in a conversation about something called a Pythagorean Theorem. Joey mentally noted the term as a possible new Teen Ninja weapon or armament.

The two operatives waited until the nerds disappeared into a classroom before moving again.

"How long until The Closet?" Joey complained.

"About forty paces. The target entered roughly two minutes ago. First bell rings in three. We have a quickly closing window. Left."

Joey and Kalani turned into another hall and caught sight of T.S. coming from the other end. Though the area was empty, the small boy dodged and tumbled from side to side, deliberately making his way towards his teammates.

"Fourth door on the right, Numbuh 25. Good luck and...be careful."

"Thanks, Lulu, we will."

Joey turned the radio volume low and attached it to his belt. He and Kalani walked casually to their destination. T.S. joined them and grinned. Kalani glared at him.

"Did you take the scenic route, Numbuh 68? You should have been here already doing preliminary surveillance," she grumbled. T.S. shrugged, giving the rabbit at his belt a subconscious squeeze.

"I got pinned down by teenagers, couldn't make a move," he explained softly.

Joey cleared his throat loudly to gain their attention. He removed a listening device from his belt. It was shaped like a large ear and fit neatly over his own ear, he pressed it against the door. T.S. and Kalani watched interestedly.

"I hear something...it sounds like...like eating."

"I bet they have ice cream," T.S. complained.

"Shut up about the ice cream already, Numbuh 68."

"Will you two be quiet," Joey hissed, "This is a highly sensitive operation."

T.S. and Kalani looked bashfully at the floor. Joey furrowed his brow and removed the listening device from his ear.

"I guess we have no choice. I can't hear anything clear enough. We're gonna have to go in. Keep your heads low and stay alert."

Grim faced, the three operatives readied themselves. Joey put his hand on the door. He looked to his teammates, they looked at him, exchanged nods. Joey opened the door and...

"Ew! Gross!"

"Ugh! Oh no, God!"

"What are they doing? Yuck!"

"Who's there? Get out!"

"You brats, I'm gonna kill you!"

"Virginia, wait..."

"Run," Joey shouted command, "Everyone, scatter!"

Joey, T.S., and Kalani took off in separate directions.

Joey bolted down the 300s as he tried desperately to erase the image from his mind of hated enemy, Virginia Sims, sucking and slurping the unknown male's face. He had heard stories at the Arctic Academy of the Teen Ninja's terrible torture techniques but it was far worse than anything he'd ever imagined. He darted a look over his shoulder and his heart caught. She was chasing after him.

"Get back here you punk!"

Joey picked up the pace, running through bleary halls, dodging confused teenagers that shouted angrily after him. He turned a corner and THUMP!

Joey fell back and shot a look up, startled. His stomach dropped.

"Oh _crud_!"

"What the..._Joey_?"

Too slow, Joey attempted to run. Wally easily snagged the collar of his shirt, holding the younger boy firmly in place. Joey shot a panicked look over his shoulder. Virginia rounded the corner, fire and brimstone burst from her very core. She fixed Joey with an evil glare.

"You little..." she gritted, advancing on the Beatles brothers. Wally perked a brow at her in surprise. Joey took the opportunity to wriggle free and raced to hide behind Wally.

Wally fixed Virginia with an even glare.

"Can I help you with something?" he asked in a tone that suggested he didn't plan on being very helpful at all.

"I don't have a beef with you, Beatles, my business is with the brat," Virginia spat response.

Joey swallowed hard, silently pleading with his older brother: please help.

"Brat? What brat? You mean _this_ brat?" Wally questioned mockingly, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the boy attempting to be very small and unassuming behind him. Wally's face hardened, his voice became a low growl. "Because this brat is _my_ brat and _I_ happen to have business with him."

Joey winced. On second thought, he'd take his chances with Virginia.

The two teenagers stood in deadlock. Joey watched in awe, knowing he could make an attempt to run but too mesmerized by the silent battle being waged before him to pull away. Both teenagers wore effective glares, their expressions burned with intensity, and it was difficult for the young operative to determine which was the more intimidating teen.

Finally, Virginia lowered her eyes.

"Whatever," she muttered, "Just tell the little perv to watch who peeps at next time."

And as if she had been the victor and not the clear loser of her standoff with Wally, Virginia spun on heel and marched away.

Joey started to tip-toe slowly from the scene.

"Joey. Freeze."

He paused, took a deep breath and turned a winning grin on his brother.

"Thanks for the help, Wally. No time to explain though, I really got to go..."

"What are you doing here, Joe?" Wally demanded.

The radio at Joey's hip chose that moment to go off, a tiny bell ringing, alarming of an incoming transmission, and then little crackles of static started to pop over a nearly inaudible murmur. Joey grabbed it, turning up the volume a bit.

"Numbuh 3.14159 to Numbuh 25. Numbuh 25, come in, Numbuh 25. Are you okay, Joey? Were you caught?"

Joey lifted the radio to answer only for it to be snatched from his hands.

"Hey!"

He struggled in futility against Wally for a moment in attempt to retrieve it.

"Oh, I see. You and your little friends are playing a game," Wally sneered.

"We aren't playing. I'm on a highly sensitive mission. Top secret! Very classified, _very important_!"

Wally did not look convinced. He lifted up the radio to speak into it, "Yeah, he's been caught and if you don't scram, I'll come for you next." Then he flicked it off and told Joey, "This is mine now."

Joey slumped his shoulders. He glared at the ground and wondered briefly if Numbuh 1 ever had to deal with this kind of embarrassment on a mission.

Wally led Joey out of the school with a strong hand gripping the back of his neck, all the while ranting heatedly.

"Sometimes I can't even begin to wonder about the things that run through that cruddy little head of yours. I don't even want to know what that crazy sheila meant about you peeping on her."

"But Wally-"

"Shut it. You start ditching school, Joe, and you know who's gonna get blamed, right? Because everything that gets screwed up in the entire world is my fault."

"But I have it all worked out..." Joey weakly attempted explanation. He'd put in a special request for counterfeit 'sick notes' doctored by well-trained Kids Next Door forgery agents especially for such urgent covert operations as the weekday infiltration of a Teen Ninja headquarters.

They stopped at Wally's motorbike. Wally ran a hand across his face, trying to rub away his frustrations.

"Dammit, Joey," he grumbled, "Now I'm gonna have to cut class to take you back to school and, you want to know the first thing they'll do when I don't show up for homeroom? Call mom."

"Or you could just...not take me back?" Joey silently suggested.

"_I'll still get in trouble, Joe. _Don't you get it? If you aren't in school it'll be my fault. Get it through your thick head. Anytime _you_ foul up, its _my_ fault. Every time you stay out past curfew, whenever you cuss, or you get in fights at school, it's all because of me. You don't even realize how pissed mom and dad are going to be over this, and why should you, it ain't you'll have to deal with them. You go out of your way to be a pain in my arse and, sometimes I swear, its like you don't even think, do you?" Wally roared.

Joey lowered his face, hair spilling into his tear brimmed eyes. It wasn't as though he purposely wanted to get Wally into trouble. He sniffled loudly, trembling a bit from the force of his older brother's accusations. In a way, it was true. He never thought that his battling adult tyranny would or even could affect his brother but, if he could go back in time to the day of his recruitment with this moment, he knew he never would have joined the Kids Next Door in the first place.

"I'm sorry, Wally, I really...I really am," he stammered. He felt like such an annoying little gnat buzzing around his brother's head. He wasn't stupid or blind. He knew, for whatever reason he couldn't fathom, that their parents were always more lenient on him. Everything, _everything,_ he did that was bad or wrong fell on Wally. It was no wonder Wally hated him so much.

Wally shoved his hands in his pockets and glared at something in the distance. After a moment, he shook his head as if deciding something and sighed, relaxing slightly.

"And, what the crud, Joey?" he muttered, his tone was lighter, almost teasing, "Have I taught you nothing? You don't cut school to go to _another school_. Sheesh, and they call _me_ crazy." He picked up his bike helmet and plopped it on Joey's head and commanded gently, "Quit crying. Crud. If I take you now, you won't be too late...maybe just an hour or so."

Joey wiped at his face. He swallowed back his sobs.

"Maybe you don't need to take me to school," he mumbled suggestion, "Maybe...maybe..." his eyes lit a bit and he looked up hopefully at Wally, "Maybe, since we're both already going to miss class, we could just not go at all. And maybe...maybe...we could go do something else...instead...just you and me. And-and-and we could tell mom that I got sick and you had to come pick me up and-and, because I was so sick, you had to stay home and take care of me. You know mom would believe me, if I said so."

Wally was silent, his face masked.

"Please, Wally. We don't even have to go do something. We could just go somewhere and do nothing."

The first bell rang, echoing in the morning air. Students shuffled towards the building, laughing and chattering with one another.

"Wally...?"

"No, Joe. You need to go to school," Wally finally said. His voice was soft and sounded faraway. Joey felt his heart sink slowly to the ground. "Don't want you turning out like me."

With the finality of those words ringing in the brothers' ears, Wally clipped the bike helmet securely into place under Joey's chin. He then straddled his bike and helped the younger boy on behind him. The bike roared to life and burst out of the school parking lot.

Joey's arms wrapped around Wally's waist, wind ripped noisily past them. In that moment, Joey was thankful for the motorbike. Because of it his older brother couldn't see the tears silently, freely, streaming down his cheeks.

Joey knew all the reasons, he'd heard all the words, all the horrible, nasty things, his mother, his father, other adults, other kids – younger and older – had to say about Wally. He hugged Wally tighter, buried his face against the firm, warm wall of the older boy's back.

He knew, but part of Joey wondered, deep in his trembling heart, would it really be such a bad thing? To be like Wally?

-5-4-3-2-1-

Cree stalked up the university steps towards her first class of the day; Calculus. Her fellow students buzzed around her. She slipped her cellphone into her purse, having just finished an annoyingly unhelpful conversation with one of her subordinates.

Moosk was proving much harder to find than she anticipated. An impromptu trip to 'Tie-land', according to stolen Kids Next Door documents, seemed to be in her near future.

Halfway up the stairs, Cree stopped dead in her tracks. Her heart thrummed a steady beat against her chest. She met the penetrating gaze of a boy calmly staring her down at the top of the steps. His eyes were a cool blue, carrying the chill of an icy tundra. His red hair fell wild around his face. There was something disturbing, something haunting about his demeanor, about his expression. He bore the look of one who'd seen things – done things – _terrible_ things. It was a look Cree sometimes saw staring back at her in the mirror.

After a few seconds ticked by, he slunk down the stairs and as he passed Cree he murmured, "Time's almost up."

Cree spun around to demand who the hell he thought he was and what he meant by that, but he was gone, faded into the crowd of eager college students rushing to classes.

* * *

Okay, so, my favorite RPG of all time is Baulder's Gate, and if you have never played it, then you have not had the wonderful privilege of meeting the non-player character Minsc, of whom the KND character Moosk is based off (also, Moosk is voiced by the same actor that voiced Minsc. I had a serious fan-girl moment watching Operation KNOT, you have no idea and you probably don't want to). And this little bit of trivia is how I knew that Mr. Warburton (somehow I think I've got his name wrong...too tired to double check...) and I were kindrid spirits. GAH! I love Moosk.

MOVING ON: For anyone who is surprised, appalled, disturbed, confused, or even, apathetic about the reveal of Rachel and Wally, I had planned from the beginning that the two of them had a history together. Originally, it wasn't going to be mentioned until the party during a conversation Rachel has with someone else, however, I decided since the party is such a long ways off, such a reveal that would play a heavy role on how the two characters interact with each other and how other characters would react to both of them, would be a little out of left field at that juncture. Also, originally, the relationship wasn't a big deal. I didn't anticipate Rachel still being so emotional over it. i'm not sure how its going to affect the overall story, yet. Characters, they're so goddamned unpredictable sometimes. Why won't they just do what I want?

On a side note, I love writing Joey/Wally fluff. Bar-none, theirs is my favorite relationship.

Also, would you believe that I originally wrote that opening scene for an earlier chapter? It was replaced with the scene where Cree meets with Professor XXXL. And yes, Cree kicks ass.

Lastly, points for whoever can figure out which KND operative Kenny Anders is meant as a shout out to and how I derived the name. I'll give you guys the answer next update! :)


End file.
